Set Your Heart On Fire
by freerangeegghead
Summary: Nyssa is a woman on a mission, Sara is a woman determined to find out the truth. They are two women living secret lives whose paths converge when a routine investigation changes everything and forces both of them to choose between saving the world, or watching it burn. Can they save it? Or is the world lost? A/U, crime, detective, thriller, femslash, maybe romance
1. Chapter 1

**Set Your Heart on Fire **

_**Summary: In which, what starts out as a routine crime investigation turns into anything but and shakes Nyssa's world to its very core. Nyssa al Ghul, Sara Lance. Femslash. A/U. **_

_**Pairing: Nyssa al Ghul, Sara Lance**_

_**TV Series: Arrow (DC, Warner Bros., CW)**_

_**Verse: Set Your Heart On Fire (Fires verse).**_

_**Rating: Rated M. For themes, scenes, language, possible violence. No smut. **_

_**Warnings: None. Totally A/U. Femslash. Characters stripped of superhero trappings. Totally convoluted and nothing is normal. Still slightly comic-book-y. Will be batshit insane maybe. Skip this if you want more canon (CW-friendly) stories.**_

_**Spoilers: None. Because A/U. Story inspired by a lot of CBS procedurals, sort of. **_

_**Disclaimer: Nothing owned, nothing gained. DC/Warner Bros. owns the characters. Only the prose is mine. **_

* * *

><p>Detective Nyssa Raatko peers out of the passenger window of the black sedan, staring out at the police cars with their lights flashing, police officers going around scene with yellow "Crime Scene" tape in their hands. It is night and it is cold and dark and she wishes she is at home, sleeping, rather than be here, late at night, on a case.<p>

A shroud of thick mist has formed over the landscape, fog as palpable as cotton, sailing and drifting in shreds of vapor all over the estate. The house stood on acres of manicured lawn and cedar, alder, birch and maple trees, the house sitting back fifty yards from the road. They both take in the garden and trees, the house, the front porch, the posts, the careful symmetry of the place. She hopes it would snow recklessly and bring to Star City that impossible winter purity Nyssa misses so much.

"Geez, this looks like a circus," Nyssa mutters as she starts to open her car door, a distinct, British edge to her voice betraying where she had been before she started working in Star City.

Detective Quentin Lance nods as he cuts the engine. "Yep, just another murder in Star City. Must be Tuesday."

Nyssa sighs as she steps out of the car and slams the door behind her. She hears Quentin Lance slam his door as well.

She takes a look at Detective Lance. The man, in his navy blue coat and black tie and trousers and polished shoes, looks very comfortable, perfectly cast in his profession. Tall, lean and unimposing, he is already losing his hair, receding hairline pointing to a whole life devoted to this job, a job that has cost him his marriage and custody of his two children. He looks undernourished and emaciated, a product, Nyssa guesses, of his bout with alcoholism, something that he now has under control. He is a man who looked like he still collected old 45s and LPs, who refused to go online to get a twitter or facebook account, who expressed confusion at the latest technology and trends and still paid in cash whenever he could. Quentin Lance is an old-fashioned, conservative man at heart. He is blunt, tidy, gruffly respectable, perpetually cranky and belligerent in a changing world. He is a strong and tireless man, honest to a fault, kind and humble. He strikes Nyssa though as someone extremely competent, someone who did not seem unhappy or dissatisfied, all things considered. Nyssa has a respect for him that most of the other people on the force has not earned as yet.

As police officers approach them, they notice the police badges hanging on Nyssa and Quentin's necks and they both nod and let them through the cordoned off crime scene. She spots a young man, Officer Roy Harper put up a hand in acknowledgement and she nods.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Lance says now and Nyssa nods.

Nyssa knows Lance likes to just bounce ideas off of people and so she doesn't say anything. The man spots a few police officers, and Barry Allen, resident CI and forensics expert, off to one side, wiping his mouth. Nyssa guesses the young man may have just finished vomitting. Lance nods at co-workers now. He is courteous, friendly, unlike Nyssa, who is detached and rarely laughed. Nyssa is silent and grave, as is required of this job. Nyssa projected a coldness, a detachment, a mysteriousness, communicated a haughtiness, a cryptic superiority that made their co-workers steer clear of her and respect her and be glad that Lance is her partner, not them. She knows she perplexed their co-workers anyway, from her unreadable expressions, to her personality and background. There is a compentence in her, an unnervingly calm demeanor in the face of death that made their fellow officers feel uneasy around her. She stands there, looking around, a tall, lean, hard presence, back straight, eyes clear and hard, looking imperious and formidable in her dark suit and badge hanging on her chest, the gun discreetly concealed underneath her coat.

In some ways, she knows her partnership with Lance worked because in some ways, Nyssa and Lance understood each other – never speaking unless absolutely necessary, and only about work matters. They rarely went out for drinks and shot pool even. Nyssa didn't like very many people or very many things. She had a cynicism – a person's cynicism in her line of work - that disturbed her, but she, unlike Barry, for instance, had witnessed more than the average person, and this has given her a different, very skeptical view of the world, finding it and the people in it enormously foolish.

Barry spots Nyssa and Quentin from where he is kneeling, taking samples off the ground and waves. Nyssa nods and approaches.

A police officer passes them by, takes a look at Nyssa and whistles. "Can I have some fries with that shake?" he says, leering at Nyssa openly.

Nyssa smiles, looks at Quentin and says, "Could you...excuse me for a second?"

She does not wait for Quentin to answer as she turns and follows the wolf-whistling police officer, taps him on the shoulder, waits for him to turn and as he turns and grins at her, she smiles back and punches him on the face.

Quentin, Barry, Roy and a few of the others who know Nyssa make a face.

"That's gotta hurt," Quentin comments as the police officer lies sprawled on the ground, spitting out blood and rubbing his jaw.

When Nyssa rejoins him and says, "Sorry about that" Quentin only rolls his eyes and says, "You're out of control, Raatko."

"He had it coming," Nyssa replies.

"Nice right hook by the way," Quentin comments.

"Thanks," Nyssa says with a small smile. "I try."

Nyssa and Quentin stand on the edge of the crime scene and nod to Barry.

"Hey, Detective Raatko, have you ever been mistaken for a man?" Officer Harper jokingly asks Nyssa.

"No, have you?" Nyssa retorts.

The smile on Harper's face disappears.

"Hey, detectives, nice night for a murder, eh?" Barry says with a forced grin. He looks pale and nauseated. Nyssa almost feels sorry for him. Barry is young, and he looks like the kind of young man with the nice kind of family and home life who probably had never seen brutally murdered men. His bravado slips when he sees Quentin's unamused look and quickly drops his grin. "Sorry."

"What do we have here?" Nyssa asks as she whips out her notepad and pen.

Nyssa takes the time to look at the body, lying on its side, arms tied at the back, head and face barely recognizeable, brains and blood all over the ground. Another CI is busy gathering whatever is left of the exploded brain in a plastic bag. Nyssa stands there, thinking the thoughts a person thinks at such a time about the ugly inevitability of death. There is a silence that waits to be filled, but neither Quentin nor Nyssa are able to fill it. Nyssa walks around the body instead, looking on the ground, at the surrounding area, trying to compose a working theory in her mind. Nyssa has always been preternaturally observant, even prescient, and she knows this will prove useful here. Quentin has always shown a preference for Nyssa's slow and deliberate way of investigating.

Quentin stands there, watching Barry work. Then he turns to Officer Roy Harper and says in a very grave voice, "Write this down, Harper."

"Sir?" Harper says, whipping out his notepad.

Quentin says, calmly, "Coffee, black, two. No sugar." He turns to Raatko. "You take it black, yes?"

Raatko nods. Harper tries hard not to look disappointed. Barry grins, amused by the look on Harper's face. Harper leaves.

"Detective, are we sure we want Detective Raatko investigating hopped up on caffeine?" he jokes.

Raatko glares at him. Barry's smile disappears.

Quentin turns to Barry and indicates the body.

"Caucasian maybe, male, about...six feet or so...early to mid-thirties, murder, bullet through the head, a .45 maybe, won't be able to confirm until we get ballistics on it," Barry says as he gets up and puts shell casings in ziplock plastic bag with rubber gloved hands. "But I'm pretty sure it is."

Nyssa nods as she takes note of what Barry just said. "Anything else?"

Barry nods. "Footprints. Boots, by the looks of it. Size 10s I think. Two different pairs, notice the different ridges, so I guess two people? Also tire prints – we've got copies of them and we'll match them later at the lab, but they're large, so maybe a truck? Or an SUV? Maybe a Hummer..."

Nyssa smirks. "Maybe you leave the speculating and detecting to the detectives, huh?"

Barry grins. "Maybe if you give me a chance so I can practice some detecting I can make detective someday, huh?"

Nyssa scowls at him. "Crime scene, Allen? Anything else here?"

"See, that's what I like about you guys, you're all so...no non-sense and just...detective-y and...stuff," Barry says, as he knits his eyebrows, frowns and says, "Yeah, something else here. Vic seems to have been killed – execution style."

"How do you mean?" Quentin asks.

"Vic's hands were tied behind his back, with wire? He was kneeling when he died," Barry says, "Bullet through the back of the head, bullet trajectory going right down and..."

"Exit wound?" Quentin asks.

"Yeah, throat," Barry says. "Went right through the brain, dead on the spot."

"Vic's name?" Nyssa asks.

Barry gestures to a police officer, who hands Nyssa a tab with the resident IT expert, Felicity Smoak, on it, online.

"Hey, Detectives, evening," Felicity says from the screen, smiling tiredly at the two.

"You've got Smoak on this?" Quentin asks, impressed. "Thought she was on vacation or something."

"Thought so, too," Felicity interrupts, "But Barry seems to think that's code for...call Felicity whenever there's a murder around. I'm supposed to be on vacation. I feel like my soul died a little."

"Star City PD appreciates your metaphysical sacrifice, Felicity," Barry says. He gets up and steps towards them and peers down at the screen. "And you said _stay_cation, not vacation. That probably meant you attempting to do pull-ups on your living room floor very badly as you surf the internet for crime news on Star. Admit it, you're bored."

"Star's not paying me enough for this," Felicity mutters.

"Why don't you two kids just date already?" Nyssa says with a smirk and an eyeroll.

"Vic's name, people?" Quentin interrupts them.

"Steven Powers," Felicity says, a small picture of the man appearing on the upper right hand corner of the screen. "No priors, moved to Star a couple of years ago, with wife and kid. Worked as an accountant...paid his taxes on time...bit of an environmentalist...some kind of crusading treehugger...volunteered at a community center at the Glades...supported some charities...nothing controversial...seemed to be trying his hand at some kind of business? And...let me see..." Felicity pauses as she leans closer to her laptop, taps something on it, knits her eyebrows, leans back and says, "Huh, that's weird."

Quentin raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean?" Quentin asks.

"I mean, that's it. Like, prior to Star, Steven Powers doesn't seem to have any other records," Felicity says. "Like, no record of him being anywhere else. Nothing. That's weird. It's like...he didn't exist before Star City or something."

Quentin puts a hand to his face, thinking about this. "Did they buy this house?" he asks.

"Will get back to you on that..."

"House seems pretty sweet for someone living on an accountant's salary," Barry says now.

"Alright, go back to sleep Felicity, let me know if you get more info on this guy," Quentin says. Felicity nods and signs out.

Harper comes back with the coffee and hands it to Quentin and Nyssa. Quentin asks Harper, "Where's the family?"

"Inside the house, a woman and a girl, family's distraught..."

"Alright."

Harper continues, "Didn't know him much, but saw him a couple of times in church...seemed like a happily married man...Everyone seemed to like him and his family enough..."

"Christian?" Quentin asks.

The man nods. "Baptist."

"Don't know whether I should be surprised you go to church or not, Harper," Barry jokes.

Nyssa turns to Quentin. "A happily married Christian husband and father who was brutally executed..."

Quentin nods back. "Yeah. It's the strait-laced ones that always have skeletons in the closet."

Nyssa raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, anything else here?" Quentin asks Barry.

Barry shakes his head, as he examines the body and the surrounding areas, but then he stops, as he sees the ring on the man's finger. "Cool. A demon ring."

Quentin asks, "And this matters because...?"

Barry shrugs. "Nothing. Just cool."

"Alright, I guess we're done here," Quentin says as he writes the last of his notes in his pad. "You tell us if you've got anything new, okay?"

"Sure thing, Detective."

"What do you think, Raatko?" Quentin asks.

"Guy with no priors executed so unceremoniously? Definitely something fishy there," Nyssa says. "I'm thinking mafia? Triad? Yakuza? Drug cartel? Maybe some pissed off client? Could be anything really."

"Clean-living, crusading treehugger who did community service, kept his nose clean, paid his taxes, never been arrested for anything, even speeding? And then suddenly executed?" Quentin says. "Something feels a bit off here."

"I'm guessing he made some pretty powerful enemies," Nyssa says.

"Enough to murder him though? Got a really bad feeling about this," Quentin says. "This close to the international economic summit, can't afford some murder like this. Wouldn't want international leaders to think SCPD can't keep its streets safe."

Nyssa gives him a small cynical smile.

Quentin looks at Nyssa and motions to the house, a big, two-story colonial house. Nyssa nods and makes to follow but then Barry calls out to her.

"Hey, detective, what're you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Nyssa turns and raises an eyebrow. "Not you, obviously."

"Ow, you're killing me detective, you're killing me," Barry says with a grin. "I meant, got any plans for Thanksgiving? Me and Felicity and some of the others are having a party at the Bump and Grind, want to come with?"

"Ah, I'd love to, Barry, but I'm kind of busy..."

"Doing what?"

"Oh, I don't know...having a life, for starters?"

"Aw, come on, even busy, brood-y, impossibly gorgeous..." Barry stops when Nyssa glares at him and hastily adds, "Aggressively scary detectives with sexy British accents in awesome stylish suits need to unwind once in a while..."

"Barry, thanks for the invite but as you can see, we have yet another murder to solve, reports to type up..."

"Bad guys to arrest and intimidate and beat up, yeah, I know the drill," Barry says with a grin. "Come on, it's Thanksgiving. Even Detective Lance unwinds, and that guy's like...the Energizer bunny or something..."

"I heard that!" Quentin Lance shouts from behind. "Raatko! You comin' or what?"

"Yes, right behind you," Nyssa shouts back. She turns and looks at Barry. "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I've got it covered."

As she turns to follow Quentin, Barry calls out. "You need a love life, Detective Raatko!"

"I have a like life, it suits me fine!" Nyssa calls back with a smile.

"Yeah, but does that get you laid?" Barry says again. "Is the more important question..."

"People! Murder to solve?" Quentin interrupts them. "Can we focus please?"

"Sorry, detective," Barry says.

Just then, Nyssa's phone rings. She glances quickly at the caller ID before she motions to Quentin that she has to take the call. Quentin nods and disappears into the house. She puts one hand on her other ear so as to listen better and says, "Hey. What's up?"

"Hey," a woman's voice comes on the other end of the line. "How long til you get back?"

"I don't know, sorry," Nyssa says into the phone. "This one's shaping up to be an interesting case, I think."

"I'm guessing we're not going to have that dinner then?"

Nyssa smiles apologetically into the phone. "No, sorry. Raincheck though? There's some take-away Chinese in the fridge, if you're hungry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Don't wait up for me..."

"Yeah, yeah," the voice says with a laugh. "Detective Nyssa Raatko – keeping the streets of Star safe from the big bads. I get it. Good thing we've got the long weekend."

"Yes."

There is a brief uncomfortable silence before the voice speaks up again. "Dad there?"

Nyssa glances at the house and says, "Yes."

The woman on the other line sighs. "I hate sneaking around like this, Nyssa. It feels like we're having some kind of illicit affair or something."

"Sara..." Nyssa says softly into the phone.

"Yeah, I know, I know, Dad's going to have an aneurysm, whatever, I get it," Sara says. "It's not like I'm ten or anything and it's not like a page out of a Nabokov story. There's consent and it's all totally legal..."

"Yes, but you know you'll always be Daddy's little girl, yeah?" Nyssa says then, with a smile. "He's going to have a fit..."

"Oh my god, he'll just have to get over it. Not my problem if he's having a problem I'm dating his partner..."

"Are we...dating?" Nyssa asks, raising an eyebrow.

"We're seeing each other on the regular and I sleep with you, if that's not what constitutes dating, I don't know what is," Sara says.

Nyssa laughs.

"I just hate having to keep us a secret like this," Sara says. "Makes me feel like...it's something shameful we have to hide or something."

"You know that's not true," Nyssa says now.

Just then, Quentin Lance goes out of the house, looking for Nyssa. When he spots her, he puts up a hand, and motions for her to come.

"I've got to go," Nyssa says then. "Your dad's looking for me."

"Alright, I'll see you later then."

"Okay." Nyssa disconnects the call then, pockets her phone and makes her way to Quentin. "Sorry," Nyssa mutters as she follows Lance inside.

Nyssa takes in Steven Powers' living room – the walls paneled with varnished pine, curtains white and clean and smooth, billowing against the cold night air, Persian rug on the floor, a black, shiny Steinway piano looming in one corner, a rolltop desk, twin rockers with cushions, walnut end tables with a sofa, a plush easy chair, a gilt floor lamp, an imposing brick fireplace. She watches forensics do their work in the room, dusting. Standing there surveying the place, Nyssa thinks Powers had done well for himself.

"Fingerprints?" Nyssa asks Quentin as she looks around at the living room, tries to see anything out of place, or unusual, any clues as to why Steven Powers would be so brutally killed.

Quentin shakes his head, clearly unimpressed by his surroundings. "None so far. Seems like a pretty clean hit."

"So you think it's a hit?" Nyssa asks.

"Seems like it."

"Checked upstairs?"Nyssa asks.

"Not yet."

Nyssa nods as she moves to desk in the living room, looks at the half-finished chess game laid out on the table. She picks up one black chess piece with one hand. The game is almost done, she notes. A checkmate.

Quentin comes over to her and asks her, "Play chess?"

Nyssa nods. "A little bit."

Quentin nods. "Yeah. You look like you play chess. My guess is you play a mean game of chess. Chess, checkers, hearts, dominoes...solitaire?"

Nyssa shakes her head. "Not solitaire. Never liked it."

Quentin looks at her with a question in his eyes.

"Anyone who likes playing solitaire is just asking to be depressed."

"Fair enough," Quentin asks, as he watches Nyssa put the black chess piece, a queen, back on the chess board. "What's your play?"

Nyssa shrugs.

Quentin smiles. "Offense, yeah? Yeah. Must believe in taking the offensive."

"That's always the best way to play," Nyssa agrees. "I'll check upstairs."

The second floor is a long hallway of three bedrooms – the master bedroom, the child's bedroom, a guestroom, a library and office and stairs leading up to an attic. Going up to check the attic, she sees that it is relatively empty, dusty, moldy, and no one seems to have been there for ages. She goes back to the second floor, checks the master bedroom, sweeps the area, finds nothing interesting there, goes on to the child's bedroom and the guestroom, finds nothing of interest there, until she gets into the library that doubles as the deceased's office. There are ornate shelves made of oak that line the three walls, a large window looking out into the backyard, a small swimming pool in the back, a desk made of oak standing by the window, wires, a cellphone, a pad, a Parker pen on a pen holder, framed photos of the man with his family, a swivel chair. The wires seem to be that of a laptop. She goes to the desk, takes out rubber gloves and goes through the drawers, finds a match book, a crumpled piece of paper, an external flash drive. She looks around, finds no one in the room, takes out a bag and slips the match book, paper, flash drive, cellphone and pad in a plastic bag, slips it into her jacket, just as Quentin comes in.

"Found anything?"

Nyssa shakes her head. "How's the wife?"

"Wife's pretty distraught. She's the one who found the body. They were supposed to have dinner with the kid, Powers never showed up. Housekeeper took the night off," Quentin says,. "Woman's in shock. Kid's not talking either."

Nyssa nods. "Is there any chance we can get a statement?"

"We did," Quentin replies. "Not much though. Wife and kid were out having dinner, Powers was working...will check with the restaurant but it's looking like the wife and kid didn't do it..."

"Well, that narrows it down to everybody else," Nyssa says.

"Pretty much."

"Will get them to the police station later and interview them again, just to keep our bases covered," Quentin says.

Harper meets both of them as they come out of the house.

"Detectives, I think you've got to see this."

Harper leads them some forty or fifty yards from the crime scene, where the house ends and the cedar trees and tall grass begin. Behind some trees, they can see an abandoned car in a ditch, the front of the car against the trunk of a cedar.

"Vic's car?" Quentin asks.

"Seems like it," Harper says.

Nyssa pulls out a flashlight, opens the front passenger door and shines the flashlight into the car. She sees a charred laptop and tab with bullet holes on them. She could see what appears to be spots of blood on the seat and dashboard and floor.

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better," Quentin says from behind.

"Do you want some more coffee, sir?" Harper offers.

Quentin turns and scowls at the young man. "Go...parkour over some police cars or something, Harper...let the adults talk now."

Harper bows and takes a step back.

Quentin reaches for the charred laptop and tab with gloved hands and slip them into plastic bags. "Let's see if Felicity can retrieve anything from this. Might help us figure out who the perps are."

When they are done with the crime scenes, Quentin turns to Nyssa then and says, "I so need a drink after this."

"You and me both," Nyssa says.

"Drinks on me?"

"I thought you stopped drinking."

Quentin grins. "I have. The drinks are for you."

"Not you, too," Nyssa says. "I'm fine. My favorite show's on the telly."

Quentin shakes his head. "You've been here for ages, Raatko and you're still using words like 'telly' like you're still in England..." When Nyssa only shrugs, Quentin says, "Have you actually even acclimated at all?"

"I think you really do need a love life," Quentin says then.

* * *

><p>Later, exhausted and sleepy, Nyssa makes her way to her apartment, stumbling into her place in the early morning, the image of the man's face blown off still in her head.<p>

It is still dark, moonlight shining through her window, half-illuminating her living room. Out of habit, she surveys her apartment, the living room, the kitchen, the dining area, before she drops her keys by a small side table near the door, takes off her coat and makes her way to her bedroom. There she sees Sara Lance, in a tank top and underwear, sleeping on her bed. She watches the woman briefly, can't help the small smile that involuntarily comes to her lips as the other woman sleeps peacefully, before she takes off her gun and gun holster, and changes.

As she slides beside Sara and slips her hand over Sara's waist, her body against Sara's back, Sara stirs and turns and instinctively pulls Nyssa close.

"You're back," Sara murmurs sleepily as she puts a hand on Nyssa's face and runs a thumb on her jaw.

They lay on their sides, facing one another. Nyssa smiles.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I woke you," Nyssa whispers back, running her hand on Sara's waist, then on her abdomen, feeling the muscles flowing on her abdomen, then running a hand on Sara's spine.

Sara moans and smiles sleepily in appreciation. "Dad okay?"

"Same old, same old," Nyssa says.

"Mkay," Sara murmurs, nodding. "Get some sleep. We'll bang in the morning."

Nyssa laughs softly. Sara nods and moves to kiss her jaw, then her cheek then plants a soft kiss on Nyssa's lips before she puts her head on Nyssa's chest and holds her. Nyssa pulls her closer, kisses her on the top of her head, before she rests her chin on Sara's head. In a few moments, she feels Sara drop off to sleep, and Nyssa just lies there, holding her tight. Her entire body feels the rightness of it, just holding Sara in her arms. Just before she sleeps she finds herself wondering if they should start thinking about telling Detective Quentin Lance that Nyssa is dating his daughter. She sighs and tells herself they will just have to deal with that in the morning.

* * *

><p>Just before she nods off to sleep, Nyssa gets a phone call. She gets up from the bed, moves off to the living room, away from Sara and answers it.<p>

"Raatko," she answers on the third ring.

"Updates?"

"Powers' dead," Nyssa whispers. "Gunshot wound to the head."

"Any idea who killed him?"

"No leads just yet."

"Well, keep working on it," the voice says. "Can't call too often, have a suspicion we've got a mole in the department, but we're not sure yet. We'll be in touch."

"Alright."

"And Raatko...?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

"Alright. Will let you know if we have any new leads. "

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: That's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing. This will be a multi-chap story, but will probably won't take more than 10 chaps, will try to update regularly though very busy all the time. Won't write canon compliant Arrow fic as show is ongoing and quite okay with the show. But wanted to write an A/U Nyssa and Sara fic because the one thing Arrow lacks is more Nyssa and Sara (and also bec RIP Sara). Points for you if you identify the references in this chap.**_

_**Thanks to pictureofsuccess, kickangel and zarathustra76 for help with this. And the awesome chats.**_

_**Welcome to the "Fire" verse. Hope you like. Cheers!**_


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning comes around crisp and cool as Nyssa drives to the police station.

A gray green stillness has settled into things, the sky a soft overcast, low mists in the dips between the hills, downtown, the streets, the buildings. It is early morning, and the streets and shops are vacant, a few homeless people just walking around, hobbling to get some warmth from the autumn cold, to shield themselves from the autumn wind. Star has already slipped off its summer mask to reveal a soggy, somniferous dreamer preparing for its winter bed. Rust-colored leaves litter the streets and the pungent smell of alder leaves, of dying leaves fill Nyssa's nose from the half open window. It had rained the night before - she could smell the rain and feel the coolness in the air, can see the last of the dawn's rain dripping from a canopy of trees lining the empty streets of Star.

The weekend proved to be restful for her, and though she only spent most of it in her apartment with Sara, she cannot complain. But now, as she drives to the station, she is thinking of the Steven Powers' murder.

At the last minute she shifts, makes a turn, makes a detour.

She passes by the park, stops a few blocks from it, parks her car, gets out, turns into a corner, into an alley, stops in front of a door, looks around, and rings the bell - one short, one long, one short.

She had decided to get some help on the things she found at the victim's office - the match book, crumpled piece of paper, flash drive, cellphone and the pad of paper. She had examined the matchbook. There was a name, "Verdant" on it which she had recognized as the name of a bar downtown. The numbers "87" had been written on it. She had wondered what the numbers meant. She had tried both the flash drive and cellphone and came up with nothing. The flash drive was encrypted, the cellphone empty. She had pressed the button for redial to see who Powers had called. The numbers popped up, the phone rang, a voice on the other line said, "Verdant Club, hello?" She had quickly turned the cellphone off. It was a lead worth pursuing later.

She had examined the crumpled piece of paper and the small pad of paper she had also found; had flipped through the pad, saw it empty. But at the last page, she had seen something on it. Characters. Written in the swirls and curves and dots of Arabic characters. Powers had known Arabic. Or at least had known enough to write this down. That had seemed very strange and random. She had tried to make out the characters and then had realized what it was. On the piece of paper, the Arabic word _"shaytaan" _had been written on it. _Beast? _She wonders. What had it all meant?

The building front door opens. She steps into a hallway, makes her way up the stairs, past a few doors, before she stops in front of one. She knocks on the door three times, hears footsteps, a pause behind the door, the click of the door being unlocked, and the creak of the door being opened. A young man, Hispanic, opens the door, huffing and puffing and sweating, long wavy hair disheveled and falling to his shoulders. He is wearing a tee shirt over a plaid long-sleeved button down one, jeans and glasses. The sound of techno music flows out from the room.

"Ms. Raatko," the man says with a smile between gasps.

"What are you doing?" Nyssa asks, as the man steps aside to let her through.

"Cardio. My cholesterol's through the roof and my dad wants me to do some cardio, but I hate gyms, so this is the next best thing," the young man, Cisco Ramon, explains as he follows Nyssa into the apartment. "Morning to you, too."

Nyssa nods, takes in his apartment, the empty Pizza Hut and Krispy Kreme boxes on the table by the living room, the crushed, empty cans of Coke, the jar of Sour Patch kids and the box of Cap'n Crunch sitting on top of all of it. There are dirty shirts and jeans strewn all over the sofa, books stacked everywhere, and by the window, on a desk, is a desktop computer and a laptop, and a flat screen television where the image of animated dancing figures are playing to the techno music Nyssa had heard the first time.

"I know, I meant to clean things up, but...that new Dragon Age just came out and..." he starts apologetically but then Nyssa turns and gives him a look and he stops. "You don't care about that, obviously...Got something for me?"

Nyssa pulls out an external flash drive and a cellphone. "I need to know what's in them. I don't want anyone knowing. This is important," Nyssa says now. "Tried it at home but I think it's encrypted. I can't access the files. "

Cisco nods as he accepts the flash drive and cellphone. "Sure, sure," he says as he goes to his desktop computer, plugs the flash drive in and waits for the information to come up on his screen. There is a silence in which Cisco gets lost in as he starts to type something on his keyboard, immediately forgetting Nyssa is even in the room, until he sees something on the screen, straightens up and says, "Information's encrypted, but that's nothing...I can probably..." Then he stops, starts typing some more on the keyboard. Folders open up on the screen, followed by images, words, equations blinking and the words "Top Secret" in red screaming on top of everything. "Whoa."

"What?" Nyssa says as she takes a step forward.

"Um...nothing...just..." and here Cisco points to the screen and adjusts his glasses, "This is some high-level stuff, man...I don't even understand half of it..."

He leans over as Nyssa approaches and tries to look at what he's gotten into.

"For what?" Nyssa says as she peers at the files onscreen, for lack of nothing better to say. Although judging from what's onscreen, they look like schematics, plans, blueprints, equations, algorithms – the kind she's seen before someplace else. She decides not to say anything to Cisco.

Cisco shrugs. "I don't know...looks like top secret...stuff...a project?"

"Can you trace from where?" Nyssa asks. "Can we know where it's from?"

Cisco shakes his head. "Let me see if I can hack into the system..." His voice trails off as he gets busy typing things up on his computer, explaining what he is doing to Nyssa along the way. "Yep, I'm online. I'm trying to make sure they don't trace it back to this server, but they're as smart as I am...they've put up different servers so it's hard to trace...there's a firewall...and another firewall...passwords...accessing password decoding software...but..." Then a beep sound comes in and Cisco lets out a whoop of joy. "And I'm in...I am invincible!"

"Can you do a search for a code?" Nyssa asks, "The numbers 87, and...'beast'...and a name, Powers, Steven..."

Cisco nods and turns back to his computer, types up the words and numbers, then turns to his laptop to do the same. They wait a few minutes before the information comes up. "No...nothing on here, man...Except for an...Axis? A.X.I.S...or something...Is that a project? A company? That the one doing all these top secret stuff? Hey, is that Powers that guy who was murdered over the weekend? Is this connected to that? To some top secret stuff? Why did he have all this stuff on him? Is that why he died?" Then he starts looking nervous. "Am I getting into trouble for this? This isn't anything illegal is it?"

Nyssa shakes her head. "No. But it was one lead we were pursuing...Can you copy all that data onto the flash drive? And make another copy?" Nyssa asks then, handing Cisco another flash drive.

Cisco takes the flash drive, turns back to his computer, plugs in the second one and starts the file transfers. The computer indicates that the files are being copied.

She quickly hands him the cellphone. "What about this? Can you get something for me from this?"

Cisco takes the phone, swipes his hand over the screen, makes a search of files and documents and says, "Well, there's nothing here...but...if this is synced up to the cloud, I could probably access the files from there...I could probably even access phone records and stuff."

Just as he is about to do that, there's another beep that comes onscreen, and Cisco turns to see, flashing in big, bold, red letters, the words, "Warning!" and under it, a statement informing Cisco that what he is doing is a crime and that he has to disconnect or face prosecution. "Oh, shit!" he says in panic, as he scrambles to unplug the flash drives, then pulls out the wire connecting him to the internet and for good measure, his phone.

"Shit!" he says again, staring at his screen as he says so, before he types up a series of commands, he hears a few blinks, a few prompt boxes pop up onscreen, he types up a few more commands, and his screen goes blank, and then boots up again.

"What happened?"

Cisco shakes his head. "I don't know...must be some kind of security protocol. The company...must have some back-up protocols or something for security breaches. I mean, I usually detect them and it's really kind of easy to get through backdoor channels to hack into systems – blame Microsoft for that – but this one's a bit more advanced than I expected...For a while there...thought I'd be celebrating my next birthday in a federal security prison..."

"But it's okay now?"

Cisco nods. "Hell yeah...I don't like to brag but...I'm probably one of the best hackers out there...I am invincible." Cisco hands her the flash drives. "Be careful with that...I think they've got some malware or bug or something that gets activated when you open it or something...Think of it as some kind of homing beacon device that gets lit up like a smoke signal anytime you plug it into any device that's plugged into the internet...I think it's one of those security protocols...I'm currently purging my computer, running some software to make sure mine's clean...but best not to take chances...Anyway, I'll let you know what I get on the cellphone..."

"Alright. Call me as soon as you get something on the phone..." Nyssa says. "Thanks. Payment's going to your account, like we discussed."

Cisco nods. "Sweet."

"I'll be in touch." Just before she opens the door, Nyssa says, "And Cisco?"

"Yeah?"

"Best not to tell anyone about this."

* * *

><p>When she arrives at the station, she spots Roy in his police uniform and Barry in his trademark jeans, jacket and sneakers leaning on one of the police cars and waving at her. She waves back. She sees one other police officer, the man she has punched at the Powers' crime scene, McKenzie "Kenzi" Jansen, looking at her with a carefully guarded look. She ignores him.<p>

A wind had come up, tossing the tops of the trees, ripping a few lose to fall earthward. One minute the streets are silent, the next a rush of wind comes up; the roar of the leaves in the trees as loud as waves breaking on a beach. The breeze catches her shirt as she makes her way to the station and she puts a hand on her hair to keep the strands of it from blowing to her face. Her shirt and her blazer, balloon out, fill with air, the tails of her scarf flying, then the wind dies and her blouse settles and she runs a hand on her hair, walking resolutely through double doors and into the precinct.

On her way to her desk, she spots Detective Lance already by his desk, on the desk across from hers, leaning on it. From the large window in the hallway partially obscured by blinds, she can see him talking to someone in a suit.

As she enters the room, Lance looks up, smiles at her. The person, a smiling woman in a business suit – a skirt and blazer, holding a briefcase, turns and sees her also. The smile on her face drops as she sees Nyssa approach them.

"Raatko," the woman says coldly.

Nyssa raises an eyebrow. "Lance."

Quentin looks from one to the other before he says, "Raatko, you remember my daughter? Laurel, Detective Raatko."

Nyssa slowly regards Laurel. She speaks coolly. "Yes, I remember."

"They still allowing borderline sociopaths to work as cops?" Laurel snarks.

"Are they still allowing you to practice law after that stunt you did at the Jones trial?" Nyssa retorts. "Xanax not yet kicking in?" Laurel glares at her, a flush rising on her cheeks. "What are you doing here?" Nyssa asks.

Lance draws herself up to her full height and says, "I'm here to make sure you don't beat up my clients during questioning."

Nyssa looks at her. "What? Who?"

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Powers' wife and kid. They're here for further questioning. Felicity has looked into some of his files...we've found a list of high-profile clients we're bringing in for questioning..." Then he turns to Laurel and says, "And...she wouldn't do that. And she didn't do what you thought she did that one time before. And even if she did, the kid had it comin'. He was a registered sex offender...and he was cracking sexual assault jokes at her. Big mistake. Huge."

"She broke his arm, dad," Laurel says in exasperation.

Nyssa smirks, folding her arms before her.

Quentin is about to try to explain that, when Laurel interrupts and says, "She beat him up with a coffee cup, dad!"

Quentin shifts, uncomfortable.

"...And she broke five of his fingers! Five!" Laurel says belligerently, showing her hand up to her father for emphasis.

Nyssa stands there, resolute. "No, I did not. You cannot prove that."

Laurel turns to her. "That's because he wouldn't talk...not after you almost dislocated his jaw! I mean...there was blood all over his face! She is out of control, dad!"

Nyssa's face is expressionless. They stare at each other in furious silence for a few moments before Quentin breaks the silence by clearing his throat and turning to Nyssa, says, "So, Steven Powers?" He then turns to Laurel and gives her an apologetic look.

Laurel takes this as her cue to talk to her client and moves a few steps away to a kid, a teenage girl, sitting on one of the benches, looking surly and annoyed.

"I'll go talk to Dr. Banks and Felicity," Nyssa says. "See if they have something for us."

"I've got some reports to type up, Powers is coming later, I'll see you then," Quentin says. "I have to deal with the press, too, about this. Captain says we have to keep it hush-hush, as low-profile as possible, until we're sure about what really happened."

Nyssa nods.

* * *

><p>"Detective," the coroner, Dr. John Banks, says by way of greeting. The man is middle-aged, tufts of white hair escaping the surgical cap he is wearing, his voice muffled by the mask on his face. He is wearing thick glasses, a white lab gown and rubber gloves. Dr. John Banks is looking unperturbed even in the face of the corpse of Steven Powers, chest partially opened up, skin on the exploded face half-peeled so that it seems like the blown off face is inside out, part of the skull exposed.<p>

"So what do we have here? Is it death by gunshot wound to the head?"

Dr. Banks looks at her and grins. Dr. Banks has been working with Nyssa since she came in, and though he hasn't known her very long, the grin on his face, the twinkle in his eye and the look of respect on his face, betrays his admiration for the woman and her calmness in the face of their surroundings.

He shakes his head. "You would think that, yes and Barry's right, it's a .45, shell casings match the bullet wound, but upon further examination, I've since ruled that out."

"How come?"

"Well, when I was examining him earlier, I also thought it was the gunshot wound to the head, but I saw some foam come out of his mouth when I pressed his chest, see?" Dr. Banks says. As Nyssa nods, encouraging him to continue, Dr. Banks says, "Well, the foam coming out of the mouth, is a result of air, mucus and sweat mingled with respiration..."

"Okay...which means?"

"Foam is brought up by pressure – it results from chemical reaction in lungs when water mixes with air and mucus."

"Alright. So he was in the water before he died?" Nyssa asks.

Dr. Banks nods. "The chemical reaction occurs at the time of drowning, indicating he was alive when he had been submerged. There was also a lot of sodium chloride in his bloodstream..."

"Sodium chloride?" Nyssa asks, puzzled. "Seawater?"

Dr. Banks grins, impressed with Nyssa. "He had swallowed a lot of saltwater which had been absorbed into his bloodstream. He didn't die by gunshot wound; that happened post-mortem."

"He drowned?" Nyssa asks, puzzled.

"That and a deprivation of oxygen to the brain, acute disturbance to the composition of blood..."

"Anoxia?"

Dr. Banks nods and adds, "And asphyxiation..."

"But he was nowhere near any kind of water where we found him. The house itself is practically deep in the woods...Except for the pool – but you say it's saltwater?" Nyssa asks. When Dr. Banks nods, she says, "Whoever did it had to have killed him a long way from his residence and had to drive him all the way back to the house to complete the job." She stops, thinking about this. "He was killed somewhere else and his body dumped near his house. Someone shot him to obfuscate the initial evidence...Someone tried to go to a lot of trouble to mislead us, to hide the crime." She sighs then and says, "Defensive wounds?"

Dr. Banks shakes his head. "None on the hands. There doesn't seem to be any sign of struggle."

"Which suggests that he knew the perp," Nyssa says.

"Wait, there's some stuff here..." Dr. Banks says, as he leans over. He grabs a container, and with some tweezers picks at something on the man's scalp. "Looks like some particulate matter. I'll have Barry take a look at it."

"Alright, let me know if you find something new," Nyssa says, nodding as she heads to Felicity's office, stopping by the coffee machine to pick up two cups of coffee.

* * *

><p>By the doorway of Felicity's office, she stops, knocks once, leans on it and says, "Hey."<p>

The blonde head turns, looks at her and smiles. "Hey."

"Good holiday?" Nyssa asks as she walks to her and hands her the cup of coffee, taking a sip of her own coffee.

"Apart from Barry calling me about the vic on the weekend and cracking jokes about binary digits because that's always funny...yeah," Felicity says, turning back to her computer and watching the news for a few more seconds. "Thanks for the coffee." She takes a sip of the coffee and makes a face. "This tastes like crap."

Nyssa smiles at her apologetically. "Sorry. Until you get a better-paying job at some private firm, you'll just have to put up with Star's tax-funded cheap coffee."

"Thanks anyway," Felicity says.

"Catching up on the news?" Nyssa asks with a smile, indicating the screen.

Felicity nods absently. "Yeah. Actually didn't watch any news during my vacation, contrary to what Barry says. Anyway, just keeping up with the news..."

Nyssa raises an eyebrow. "In the Middle East?"

"Yeah, it's kind of my thing. There was some terrorist attack over in Syria, and then another one in Baghdad. There's some kind of new player in town, apparently since Al Qaeda was destroyed, it left an opening for a new terrorist organization. They've gone on youtube claiming responsibility for the attacks. Some brotherhood or whatever. I hate how Star and the other major news networks ignore this kind of news. Thank god for the internet."

Nyssa smiles. "Should we be worried?"

Felicity shakes her head. "Nah. There's like...five or ten of them or something. I think we should be more concerned about that APEC economic summit they're holding here in Star..."

Felicity turns and smiles at Nyssa. "How about you? How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Nyssa says. "Anything on the laptop and tablet?"

Felicity turns back to her desktop computer and with one hand starts to type commands on her keyboard. "Laptop's fried, so is the tablet...tried to retrieve some files...I'm hoping Powers had something stored on his cloud account...but we'll see..."

"Got anything anyway?"

Felicity shakes her head. "Like I said, fried. I did get some of his known associates. Powers was some kind of accounting consultant. Kept a low profile, but had high profile clients. That explains how he can afford that nifty house of his. Here -" she hands Nyssa a printed out list. "That's a list of his clients. I already told Detective Lance and I gave him a copy, but you can have that one as well."

Nyssa accepts the paper, thanks Felicity and is folding it and sliding it in her pocket when they hear a voice from behind.

"Hey, Felicity, I got you some latte...I know you think SCPD coffee is crap and all so...and I've just come up with another binary digit joke..."

They both turn to see Barry with two cups of coffee in his hand. Barry stops, speechless, and turns bright red.

"What do you have for me?" Nyssa asks, pretending to ignore the flush on Barry's cheeks as he hands Felicity the coffee. "On Powers?"

"Um, yeah, it's a .45, ballistics confirmed it...but I'm guessing Dr. Banks already told you about him drowning?" When Nyssa nods, Barry continues, "Which explains why there was some seawater on his body and clothes."

"Don't rule out the bullets just yet," Nyssa says. "If we can trace who owns the gun, it could probably lead us to the killer."

"On it," Barry says. "Bootprints are kind of a dead-end, but found some particulate matter on the prints - the treads on the shoes - and on the car – sand. Like the kind of sand you find on the beach. Matches what the doc is saying. I'm running tests on that particulate matter the Doc gave me...could give us an idea where the vic died..."

"Isn't sand the same everywhere?" Felicity asks.

"You would think that, but not really," Barry says with a grin. "The sand might tell us where he was killed. We're doing some more tests on the particulates found on his clothes – that stuff might give us an idea of the salinity of the water, bacteria, minerals, small amounts of other substances which might help us identify the exact location."

"Oh," Felicity says.

Then he turns to Nyssa again. "Oh, Dr. Banks wants to talk to you? It's really important. And Captain James says he also wants to talk to you and Detective Lance whenever you're free. And Detective Lance wants to see you? I think Mrs. Powers and her daughter are both in already?"

"Wow, busy day," Felicity comments.

"Yeah, this is so exciting," Barry says. "It's very, very exciting. Like at first you think the body was shot, but then it turns out it's not? It's like...straight out of a TV show sort of...I've dreamed about this my whole life..."

Nyssa raises an eyebrow. "You dream about dead blokes?"

There is an awkward pause that follows this before Barry clears his throat and says, "Detective Lance is at his desk...With his daughter."

Felicity perks up. "Daughter?"

"Yeah. The older one? Laurel? The defense lawyer. They're talking about some kid in juvy Harper arrested, Sin somebody? They're talking about her doing some community service or something," Barry says.

"Oh, they're talking again?" Felicity asks.

Nyssa and Barry turn to Felicity.

"Just that...I heard they don't...get along so well," Felicity says, awkwardly. "Or something...What with all that like father, like daughter thing...with the boozing and stuff...I guess it hadn't been the same since...that family tragedy they had...Not that I know a lot about them...or gossip or whatever...Don't want you guys thinking I'm a big gossip or anything...and I should shut up now..."

They both wait for Felicity to say more, but she doesn't so Nyssa and Barry just stand there, not knowing what to say.

"Are they gossip fodder now?" Nyssa asks with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Felicity mutters. "I shouldn't have...said all that...he's your partner...and you're probably feeling protective of him...sorry...please don't beat me up..."

"Why does everyone think I'm going to beat them up?" Nyssa asks now.

" 'Cause you do?" Felicity offers. "I mean...there's an ongoing bet to see who would win in a fight...you or Laurel..." When Nyssa just glares at her, Felicity quickly adds, "Not that...gambling should be encouraged...gambling's bad...and stuff..."

Barry laughs. "Detective Raatko would win. Except maybe Laurel might kind of give you a bit of a run for your money. Heard she's some kind of ice queen or something," Barry finally says. "I mean, like if you screw up your evidence or whatever she will destroy you in court."

Felicity agrees. "She does have a scary number of wins. She's like...the kind of lawyer we probably need to have on our side."

"Say, didn't you guys almost come to blows or something?" Barry turns and asks Nyssa then, a grin on his face. "I mean, I saw you guys earlier...and that was like, the highlight of my day."

Nyssa tries not to roll her eyes. "No, we did not. We had a...verbal altercation."

Felicity raises her eyebrows in question.

"We...disagreed on the methods that should be used to interrogate alleged suspects accused of certain...crimes."

"Damn lawyers," Barry says then, still smiling. "They take the fun out of _everything_. Didn't she give Roy a lot of crap for forgetting to read that perp's Miranda Rights?"

Felicity grins. "Yeah, I think he got as far as 'You have a right to be an attorney' or something..."

Barry laughs.

"Well, I have to go," Nyssa says. "Talk to you both later."

* * *

><p>Nyssa returns to her desk to find Quentin and Laurel still talking, Laurel pointedly ignoring her, but this time with a new visitor. It is Sara in jeans, shirt and a black leather jacket. Nyssa recognizes the leather jacket as the same one she'd given her. Sara had taken a liking to it and seems to like wearing it whenever she can.<p>

The look of pure joy and delight on Quentin's face is almost too much. What interests her is how awkward Laurel looks. She isn't necessarily unhappy that Sara is here, but she looks uncomfortable as well, like she would rather be somewhere else. Sara is smiling and talking to her older sister though, and if she has noticed Laurel's discomfort, she is ignoring it. Quentin just looks clueless and very delighted.

Nyssa moves to her desk, booting her computer up, pulling out pens and paper, ostensibly working on something even as she surreptitiously glances up to see Sara looking at her briefly with a look of recognition on her face and a small, mischievous, flirtatious smile on her lips. When both her father and sister are not looking, Sara looks at Nyssa then and Nyssa smiles, winks at her and takes out the list Felicity has given her.

It occurs to her suddenly that she doesn't know a lot about Sara, or Quentin or the rest of the family. Sara doesn't speak much about her family. Sara doesn't speak much about herself, except to talk about her work at the community center, her work at the gym as an instructor, her work with the teenagers there. She knows what she likes to eat, to drink, what music she likes to listen to, what movies she likes, what books she reads, how she feels about politics, about the environment, about everything else, but the one thing she doesn't know much about when it comes to Sara, is her family. She knows Sara had been studying in college when she had decided to take a year off to travel the world, but that year had stretched to a couple of years, then she had come back, and transferred to another school somewhere else in the country, and had disappeared from Star until a few months back. She had been more tight-lipped about her family, and rarely talked about her parents or her sister. She has heard from the others, in the precinct, about an older sister, Dinah, who had died, when Sara was younger – the death of the sister had led her father to alcoholism, to the divorce, to Laurel's own alcoholism after. She wonders if this is the reason Sara had left the city as well. She rarely talks about her family or herself, but sometimes, at night, Sara wakes up from nightmares herself, and whenever she does, it startles Nyssa awake, and whenever she asks what was wrong, Sara would shake her head and just hold her and Nyssa would do so, rocking her to sleep.

Quentin has to call her name three times before she looks up and sees Quentin, Laurel and Sara looking at her.

"What?" she asks then.

"You ready? The vic's wife and kid have arrived. Harper's taken them to one of the interrogation rooms," Quentin informs her.

"Sorry," Nyssa says, "Yes, I'm ready."

Sara smiles a small smile at her, before she turns to Quentin then Laurel, hugs them both and announces, "I've got to go."

"What, so soon?"

"Yeah, I've got work down at the Glades," Sara says then with a smile. She looks at the surly teenager slumped on one of the chairs, the same one Laurel was talking to earlier. "I also probably need to give Sin one of my famous pep talks about...the importance of staying away from the police station...or at least _not_ getting arrested for something as ridiculous as...public disturbance...and vandalism..."

Quentin snorts. "You comin' for Thanksgiving, right?"

Sara nods. "Definitely. Bye dad! Bye Laurel."

Quentin smiles as he watches his younger daughter leave. He looks at Nyssa then, nods and indicates that she follow him to the interrogation room. Laurel follows them from behind. "My other daughter," Quentin explains as they walk down the hallway. "Works at the Glades. Don't know why though. She was a straight A student and a member of the honors society. She could have a choice of any corporate job but chooses instead to volunteer at the Glades..."

Nyssa only nods. "Dr. Banks wants to show me something, I'll catch up with you later."

Quentin nods as they all stop in front of a door and they all peer in to see sitting on a couple of chairs in front of a table, are Mrs. Powers and the daughter, Jaime.

* * *

><p>Dr. Banks is no-nonsense when she returns to his office. Skipping the pleasantries, he says, "There's something else I want to show you."<p>

"What?" Nyssa asks.

Dr. Banks motions for her to follow him to the body lying on the examination table. The body has been turned on its stomach, back exposed to them. Dr. Banks points to the body's back. Nyssa leans over to see what it is. What Nyssa sees there surprises them.

For a moment Nyssa says nothing, before she eventually says, "Looks like...words..."

"Yeah, but not in any language I know," Dr. Banks says as he looks at the back.

"It looks like..."Dr. Banks says, as he leans closer, scrunching up his nose and squinting, adjusting his glasses.

_Arabic_, Nyssa realizes. She can recognize the characters clearly.

"I'm not an expert or anything, but I think it's Arabic," Dr. Banks says now. "I'll take some photos and have the lab translate it for us."

"Okay, I'll let Detective Lance know." Nyssa takes a deep breath then leaves the office.

She does not know why, but she feels some kind of dread creeping up on her. The words were written with a knife, the wounds and blood forming the words. Powers had been tortured, she realizes. The words written in Arabic were _"You have failed."_ Beneath those characters, was the word "_shaytaan" - beast._

* * *

><p>"Did he have any enemies? Anyone at all who would have some kind of motive to kill him?" Quentin asks patiently.<p>

It is almost an hour later into the proceedings, and Nyssa is watching it standing behind the two-way glass window and watch Mrs. Powers and Jaime answer Quentin's questions, with Laurel present. She is still thinking about what Dr. Banks has said, trying to think about what he had found on the deceased's body and the information Felicity had given her.

She'd been observing the questioning for half an hour behind the two-way window and she is convinced the woman and the child had nothing to do with it. The woman had met Steven Powers two years prior, when the man had moved to Star. They'd dated briefly, before Powers had proposed. Six months later they had been married. The child was a daughter from a previous marriage. They seemed to have a good relationship with Blood.

The woman is now shaking her head. "No. He...he worked hard...worked late...left early, came home late, had meetings with a lot of important people...but...I'd never heard of anyone being upset with him...upset enough to kill him..." here she stops, chokes up and starts to cry again.

Quentin and Laurel sit there, awkwardly, waiting for the woman's sobs to subside before Quentin continues.

"You know of any of his associates who would do this to him?" Quentin persists.

The woman starts to shake her head again, before she stops, wipes her eyes and nose and says, "I don't know but...a few weeks ago he came home very upset after a meeting with Mr. Walter Steele..."

"Walter Steele?" Quentin asks. "The CEO from Queen Consolidated?"

The woman nods. "Yes, that's the one. He wouldn't say anything about it...but apparently it had something to do with...some gambit...?"

Quentin nods as he writes this down, before Laurel speaks up and says, "Is there anything else here?"

"Wait..." Mrs. Powers interjected.

Quentin stops writing, pen suspended in mid-air, as he raises his eyebrows in question.

"There is one thing," says Mrs. Powers. As Quentin waits, Mrs. Powers states, "I think Steven met with Mr. Steele on the night he died..." When Quentin nods to encourage her to speak further, Mrs. Powers explains, "It was just before we were supposed to have dinner. They were supposed to meet at Verdant? I remember because Steven doesn't like to go out much...He doesn't go to Verdant...he doesn't say much to me where he goes about, but he mentioned a meeting he's supposed to have with Mr. Steele at Verdant...I think Mr. Steele owned the club? I think that's it...is there anything else you want to know?"

Quentin nods again, looks at his pad, then to his daughter, then to the crying woman in front of him, shakes his head, and says, "No, I think that's it."

Laurel grabs her briefcase. She nods to Quentin and her client then as she gets up.

"If there is anything else you remember, Mrs. Powers, that could help with the investigation, anything at all, please don't hesitate to call us, alright?" Quentin says, as he watches the woman gather her things and get up.

The woman nods, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Thank you, Mrs. Powers, you've been a great help." Quentin smiles at her.

As the woman and her daughter leave, Laurel says, "I'll be right back" and she leaves with them.

Nyssa waits a beat before she rejoins Quentin.

Quentin looks up and raises his eyebrows in a wordless question.

Nyssa shakes her head. "Wife seems to be telling the truth. Walter Steele's name also came up on the deceased's list of clients that Felicity dug up, along with some other people."

Quentin takes a deep breath. "We should check that out. Let's get Harper and the others to check the other names as well."

Nyssa tells him what Dr. Banks had found out.

"Yes. It's a bit odd, I'll tell you that," Quentin comments. Let's go. Captain wants to see us. Says it's urgent."

"Okay," Nyssa looks at Quentin then, puzzled. "Did he tell you what it was about?"

Quentin shrugs as they head to the Captain's office.

* * *

><p>They find out soon enough.<p>

Captain Gordon James is sitting behind his desk, in his office, looking at two uniformed men sitting across him. He looks up when Quentin and Nyssa come in. He is overweight by thirty five pounds and the shirt he is wearing under his suit is bulging at the seams, but he still looks distinguished. The extra weight is nicely distributed, makes him look powerful. He has short thick arms, no elbows, and a pudgy face lined with gray hair. He is a good man, a kind man, as gruff and tough as Lance, but he is fair and he always tries to support his officers whenever he can.

"Raatko, Lance," James says. "I'd like you to meet Agents Oliver Queen and John Diggle...from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Both men turn to look at Quentin and Nyssa and nod.

"Nice to meet you and all," Quentin says, then he turns to Captain James and asks, "But what are they doing here?"

James leans back, makes a steeple with his fingers and says, "Agent Queen and Diggle are here to...assist...in your investigation. With that murder over the weekend."

"Investigation?" Quentin asks. "Oh, you mean the Powers case?"

James nods. "That one. Agent Queen and Diggle have graciously offered their...services in order to help solve this murder..."

Quentin smiles tightly. "I wasn't aware this has become a federal investigation."

Agent Queen just looks at him with an expressionless face and in a flat tone says, "It's not, Detective Lance. We assure you you're still going to be lead investigator...we just...want to be kept in the loop whenever there are new developments in the case..."

Agent Diggle smiles and adds, "We don't want to step on any toes. We're more than willing to lend our resources to SCPD to solve this case as quickly as possible."

There is an awkward silence that precedes this as both Quentin and Nyssa take this in.

Finally Nyssa speaks up. "The FBI does not work with SCPD."

"They do now," Agent Queen states evenly.

"And vice versa," Nyssa continues. "In fact, SCPD does not _like_ working with the FBI."

"We are sorry to hear that," Agent Queen interrupts tonelessly.

"And this is our bloody case, Captain, why are we letting the FBI move in like this?" Nyssa demands now, her voice rising.

"I understand that," Captain James interrupts her, his voice rising as well.

"Do you want us to give you a minute?" Agent Diggle says as he gets up.

Agent Queen follows.

Captain James puts a hand on his forehead, starts massaging it. "Yes. Please."

When they step out, Nyssa says angrily, between gritted teeth, "What the bloody hell is the FBI doing here?"

"I don't know." Captain James leans back, in resignation. "I don't know, okay? Take it easy, Raatko. They just showed up here and started talking about the case and how it's a federal investigation now..." He throws up his hands. "My hands are tied, okay?"

Nyssa stops, looks at him steadily, before she folds her arms before her. "They know something."

Captain James shrugs, shakes his head and sighs. "I don't know. I'm as much in the dark as you are. I'm sure they'll tell us in due time."

Nyssa fixes him with a steely glare and says, "If those wankers put us through the trouble of finding out what they know all on our own...I may have to exact the price for whatever it is they're hiding..."

Captain James shakes his head, raises his shoulders, admitting ignorance. "What do we have here anyway?"

Briefly, Nyssa informs Captain James what she and Quentin have found out so far, what Dr. Banks has discovered so far, what Felicity and Barry have found, and what their next plans are.

Captain James listens gravely before he says, "With what you guys have told me, I think we actually _might_ need the FBI's help..." Before Nyssa and Quentin could protest, Captain James puts up a hand to silence them both and says, "This seems way bigger than SCPD can handle and I have this feeling we're getting way in over our heads here."

Nyssa stands glaring at Captain James, saying nothing. After a while, Quentin speaks up. "Alright. Fine. Like we actually have any choice over this. Just tell them to stay in their lane, and we'll stay in ours. But if they get in the way, I'm authorizing Raatko to punch that self-satisfied, smug look on that Agent Queen's face. Repeatedly, if necessary."

Captain James tries not to laugh at that and it ends in a cough. He has a brief coughing fit and both Nyssa and Quentin wait patiently as he wheezes and rubs his chest. "I'd...advise you not to do that," he finally gasps, with a wink and a twinkle in his eye. "Even though I'd love to see the look on Queen's face when she does so."

When Nyssa's eyes light up, Captain James says, "No. Don't even think about it, Raatko. Or I'm putting you on traffic duty 'til the end of time."

Nyssa smirks.

"So everyone okay? It's good?" Captain James says.

Both of them nod.

"Great. Send them both back in."

* * *

><p>After the meeting with Captain James and the FBI agents, Nyssa finds Felicity waiting for her at her desk.<p>

"What's up?" Nyssa asks, voice low, looking around at the two FBI agents who are currently busy talking with Lance.

Felicity understands, leans over and says, "I found something for you. Come to the office..."

Both of them look at the agents before they quietly slip out of the room.

"Who are they?" Felicity whispers.

"FBI. Oliver Queen, John Diggle."

"Oliver Queen?" Felicity asks. "Sounds familiar. Any relation to Queen Consolidated?"

Nyssa shrugs. "What do you have for me?" Nyssa asks once they get out of the room and are on their way to Felicity's office.

Felicity says, "Yeah...pulled out his photo from archives, ran it through a database...and a curious thing happened..." She types something on her computer and Steven Powers' photo comes up.

"What?"

"Well, ran it through facial recognition software all over the internet, and it took a while, but...here's what I came up with," Felicity says, tapping a keyboard to reveal the victim's driver's license, with the name, "Sebastian Blood" on it.

"Our vic was going by a different name," Nyssa says, the realization suddenly hitting her.

"Yeah, _that's_ why I couldn't get a hit on him the first time," Felicity says, visibly excited. "I mean he's younger, and there's a bit of work done on his face, but it's totally him. Check this out."

Felicity types on her keyboard and news websites pop up. "Sebastian Blood was involved in some controversial drug case a few years back. He testified against some kind of drug cartel, put away the druglord for good. The Mendez cartel? Supposed to be big in Mexico. I think he used to launder money for the cartel or something...then one day he got into a car and the car exploded. He died on the spot. Or something. They buried him and everything."

Nyssa purses her lips, knits her brows, thoughtful. "He disappeared."

"Exactly. And then he shows up in Star two years after and then dies."

Nyssa stares at the photo. "That's...curious."

* * *

><p>It had been a long, tiring day. They had not made progress over interviewing Walter Steele – they had had to make an appointment with him, as well as with the other high-profile clients of the victim. Harper had been able to interview the other clients, and had not turned anything up.<p>

Nyssa's phone buzzes then.

She grabs the phone, takes a look at the caller ID and sees Cisco's name flashing on it. She answers on the second ring.

"Raatko."

"Hey, what's up?" Cisco asks, sounding nervous and agitated. He doesn't let Nyssa answer that though, and quickly continues. "Yeah, about that flash drive and cellphone you asked me to take a look at?"

"Yes?"

"Well...a funny thing happened," Cisco says. "I think the flash drive kind of sort of activated something or other and someone's hacked into my computer and I'm freaking out..."

"Do you know who it is?" Nyssa asks then.

"No," Cisco says. "I did get some more information based on that flash drive you gave me and the cellphone? There were calls made to...a Walter Steele? And I don't know...something felt familiar about that stuff from the flash drive? I kind of have an eidetic memory? In layperson's terms, I have sort of a photographic memory and there was some stuff there that stuck to me...the ones on the flash drive? So I did some digging and came across something on the net..."

Cisco doesn't wait for Nyssa to ask, he just continues in the same agitated, nervous voice filled with anxiety. "I did some checking and I found that some of the files in the flash drive were for...chemical components...?They're organophosphates...? Mainly phosphorous-containing organic chemicals..."

Nyssa creases her forehead, deep in thought. "Nerve agents?"

"Yes...but nothing I've seen before...this one seems...modified somehow...deadlier...There's even one on...the three-protein exotoxin secreted by virulent strains of the bacterium, _Bacillus anthracis_..."

"Anthrax..."

"Yeah...how do you know that?" he asks, anxious. "There was even one on the Ebola virus...and something called Mirakuru? And a few more on single-stranded and double-stranded DNA...but the curious thing was...some stuff on human DNA...? They seemed like...modifications or enhancements or whatever...I don't know exactly what it is...but my best guess is...a genetic research?"

"Chemical and biological weapons..."

"Yeah...I don't...you're kind of very freakisly knowledgeable about these stuff...it's freaking me out..." Cisco says, nervously, but then there's a sound like a thud that makes Cisco say, hurriedly, "Come by later. Tomorrow or something. I'll give you the phone and the stuff I found out."

"Okay. And Cisco...be careful."

* * *

><p>By the end of the day, Nyssa Raatko finds herself slumped on her chair, at her desk, taking in all the information she had gathered with Detective Lance. She stares at her notes in front of her and finds the words losing their meaning, the words having lost their original purpose, as if they had no more practical value now than a rusted car or a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea. The office had grown dark, and fluorescent lights have been switched on, flickering overhead, only a pale light seeping through the windows.<p>

She feels exhausted, at a loss as to how to go about the business of solving a simple murder that seems to have proven itself to be anything but simple. They have the facts but that might not be the whole story. It never is. The facts are just facts – cold, impersonal, disconnected, pieces of a puzzle waiting to be put together. Can they just depend on the facts? But what else do they have? Everything else is emotion and hunch. She feels a bit like they're missing something, like something's not right with the case, but she can't quite put her finger on it. She feels suddenly empty – a great, airy space blowing up inside her.

Her phone buzzes. She grabs it, checks the message for her, finds it is from Sara, informing her she'd made dinner. Nyssa fights the urge to smile.

She glances at the clock on the wall and realizes it is time to call it a day.

She looks forward to going home, being with Sara, having that dinner, getting some rest.

Later, when she catches a glimpse of Sara by the window of her apartment, in the last light of day, her image appeared to her as a kind of silhouette, a vague impression, refracted and fragmented, and when Sara looks up, and meets her eyes as she crosses the street, Sara waves. Nyssa holds up a hand, smiles, feels a tightness in her chest, feels her heart seize up. She takes a deep breath. When she gets to her apartment on the second floor and stands by the kitchen, she is greeted by the image of Sara, in very short shorts and a tank top, preparing a salad while happily humming to the sound of old-time Motown music – Otis Redding, she guesses – playing low on the stereo. She takes in the table, neatly arranged, plates, wineglass, forks, knives, candlelight. Sara moves with genuine feeling, with the calm ease of one who feels there is certainly such a thing as grace. Sara takes pleasure in the food she is preparing, in the shadow of herself in the twilight. The room is tranquil, the one warm place in all the world, and Nyssa feels that earlier emptiness being slowly filled by Sara's presence.

A slow smile starts to spread on Sara's face then and she tilts her head and says, in that affectionate tone that Nyssa has come to learn is reserved only for her, "Hey, you."

Nyssa smiles back. "Hey."

Sara proudly shows her the salad she's made and says, "I made dinner."

Nyssa's smile grows wider. "So I see."

As Sara puts the finishing touches on dinner, Nyssa takes a seat, just watching her push a plate in front of Nyssa, push a glass of wine in front of her, hand her a fork and a bread knife. Nyssa watches her, fascinated. The candle on the table casts an arc of light on their food and on Sara's face, and outside, the first light of the moon catches everything and holds it, suffusing everything.

She remembers how they met. A few months ago, in spring, during a party at the Glades. She hadn't remembered much about it, except that it was Sara's organization which had thrown it. A charity fund-raiser for the Glades Community Center, where Sara volunteered, taught martial arts to young people. Nyssa thinks now that it seems that meeting Sara had been some kind of lushly textured dream, the smallest details, every word, every motion, about Sara unforgettable.

Nyssa had seen Sara in the middle of that party, before Sara saw her, as if by accident, by happenstance. Nyssa had arrived, looking for Steven Powers in the sea of people, had searched the crowd for him and then suddenly, the crowd had parted, and there, in a simple black dress, was Sara. Nyssa hadn't intended on meeting her, she had been there on assignment, on surveillance, and Steven Powers needed to be found. Steven Powers would arrive about an hour later though, time enough for Nyssa to watch her surroundings, observe the people, get a feel for what Star City's ten percenters, its elite, its rich and famous, were like. In the middle of it all though, she had found herself looking for Sara's face, found herself drawn to her, found herself discreetly staring at her. Nyssa had taken her in - her long, golden wavy hair, the tendrils of loose strands falling across her cheeks and nose, her throat. There is a roundness, a firmness to her, her blond hair casting a glow over her shoulders. She had looked like an angel. Nyssa sees again the strength of her legs, the smooth skin of her ankles and calves, the suppleness of her spine. Nyssa watched while she ran her hand on her hair, the other hand holding her drink. She watched her sipping her drink, watched as the liquid slid between her lips. She watched as she put a hand on the nape of her neck. Sara hadn't seen her coming, intent on the conversation she was having with a guest, but at the last minute, Sara had lifted her gaze. Sara met her eyes. Nyssa had stood watching and imagined that if she kissed her that night the taste of wine would be cool in her mouth. Sara had looked at her then and away quickly, saying nothing. They had kissed that night, and she tasted the warm wet taste of her, bringing Sara down for her from the world of angels and into the world of human beings.

Watching Sara before her, watching her by the light of the window, that simultaneous tightness and warmth refuse to leave her chest. She tries to enjoy the small pleasures of warmth and light and food and Sara but she can't help but think about what she is feeling.

She hasn't felt this before. Is surprised she is feeling it now.

Nyssa realizes that if what she suspects about herself is true, then she is in big trouble.

Sara looks up then and sees her staring, smiles, and asks, "What?"

Nyssa smiles back and says, "Nothing."

"Stop staring."

"You're practically wearing only knickers, darling, it's hard not to."

Sara's smile widens. "You're cute," she says, as she leans over and kisses her before she sits back down and starts to eat.

They eat dinner as the twilight fades beyond the window, as the candle burns between them, as Nyssa's feelings expand and flutter and tighten in her chest. And the feelings don't leave her, long after they're done with dinner, and making love and they have both slipped into a pleasurable, lethargic bliss.

* * *

><p><em>Nyssa finds herself in a vast empty space. <em>

_She is surrounded by blinding whiteness and mist. _

_She looks at herself and finds herself dressed in a black robe, holding a bokken – a curved piece of cherry wood three feet long – in front of her. The mist moves and she finds herself being attacked by someone, is surprised she is blocking and hitting and turning and jumping with the bokken in her hand. She cannot see who it is, the mist is obscuring the figure._

"_Zenshin!" a strong, deep, raspy voice shouts as she sees a bokken hit her own. "Zenshin!"_

"_You are slower," the man says to her. _

_She finds herself shaking her head, saying no, but the man laughs, and says, "You spend too much time with the hakujin...there is darkness in the hearts of the hakujin...they are too tempted by their egos and have no means to resist...the hakujin have tainted you...they have made your soul impure...You've forgotten who you are..."_

_She attempts to say this is not true,that she knows exactly who she is, but there is mocking laughter and sudden silence and then the mist rises up and parts and suddenly there is a bokken going straight for her head, slamming against her skull. _

_Then darkness._

* * *

><p>Nyssa's eyes fly open then.<p>

For a moment she does not know where she is, as she takes in the half-darkness, the room, the window and the moonlight, pale, indefinite, streaming through it, the dark shadows in the room, the bedside table and the lamp by the bed, the gun and the holster lying beside the lamp, and then there is movement beside her and she turns her head and she finds a completely naked body there, the sheets outlining the curves against the half-darkness. The body is pressed close to her, back against her side, blonde hair spilling on pale shoulders. Sara. Dinner with Sara. Sara sleeping naked on her bed. Sara and her making love last night. Sara spending the night in her apartment. She remembers.

As that sinks in, her heartbeat slows down to normal and she takes a deep breath, turns on her side, and puts a hand on Sara's waist. Sara stirs, grabs Nyssa's hand and squeezes it instinctively even as she continues to sleep.

The nearness of Sara calms her down.

She feels safe with her, as though time is suspended, the world frozen, the temporary safety of a sanctuary one must eventually leave.

Nyssa runs her fingers along Sara's waist, then her abdomen. She pulls Sara closer. Sara moves, turns, holds Nyssa, pushes a leg between Nyssa's legs. She is naked and Nyssa can see her face in the moonlit window. It is a good face – strong and smooth and beautiful. Sara looks strong. Sara _feels _strong. She has the strong body of someone who has been working out her whole life. Earlier, making love, Nyssa remembers pressing herself against Sara while they hold each other, and Sara pressing back, lifting her hips, Nyssa between her legs. She remembers feeling her breasts, kissing them, remembers stroking her belly and chest and back, remembers pushing at the waistband of Sara's underwear, Sara's breath shifting, as she gasps and moans, Sara arching her shoulder blades, throwing her head back, the slow shudder running through her, the film of sweat on her throat. After, she remembers them holding one another with the dreamy contentedness of young lovers, remembers Sara's laughter, their whispered conversations interrupted by kisses, the slippery softness of their lips and tongues inspiring them to believe in the temporary illusion that the rest of the world had disappeared, nobody and nothing but the two of them.

And for a time Nyssa had believed that the world _had_ disappeared.

Sara sometimes had the power to do that, to make Nyssa forget everything.

But then the dream.

_Hakujin. Zenshin._ She knows the words. She remembers them. As sure as she remembers the _bokken _she used to practice with when she was younger. She had trained with the _bokken_. Someone had trained her. Rezsch. Rezsch had trained her. It had been Rezsch in her dream. She is sure of it. She has managed to push him out of her mind, especially when the need calls for it, but there are moments, like in dreams, when he comes to visit, when he reminds her what she was, and still _is_.

Sara is _hakujin_. So is her father, Quentin. And Barry. And Felicity. It is the world of the _hakujin_ after all. She feels a surge of resentment, guilt. Rezsch had been gone a long time and he still has that ability to make her feel guilty she is with a _hakujin_. It didn't matter. It _shouldn't_ matter. She knows who she is. Sara is more than just a _hakujin_. And Nyssa is more than her past.

She extricates herself from Sara then, grabs her robe and quietly goes to the living room.

She looks out of her window, sees the pink orange glow of the coming sunrise, stares at the buildings that fill the skyline of Star City.

Looking at the window, she sees something that calls her attention. Her eyes move and rest on the katana, displayed behind a glass cage, sheathed and rolled into a cloth, undecorated and highly useful. Rezsch had given it to her as a gift and this is the only thing that she has kept zealously for herself. The wooden scabbard is plain and simple, but the sword itself, in the plainness of its curve, has a beauty in its simplicity, that she has always appreciated. Rezsch has given it to her to remind her, she remembers, of her heritage and that of her mother and her mother's ancestors, a long line of warriors that slowly disappeared after the Meiji Restoration. They had tried to fight valiantly back by forming a League. The league itself had eventually been annihilated, had disappeared. She had grown up on an island miles from the mainland, her training having started when she was six, when Rezsch had taught her the meaning of "_zenshin_" - a constant awareness of potential danger, when he had taken a wooden pole and slammed it against her solar plexus. Much was expected of her, Rezsch had said and she had to work to prove that she was worthy of her heritage. She had trained incessantly with Rezsch with the kendo, the bokken, before moving on to the katana and she had practiced over and over again until they were natural to her, a part of who she was, the_ bokken_, the kendo, the katana, an extension of her hands, rehearsing the dark choreography of her ancestors' arts. He'd taught her how to use the _naginata, _the pole arm, and the _kaiken_, a special knife in an art called _tantojutsu, _the skill of the knife, until the _naginata_, the _kaiken_ became an extension of her hands, too.

By the time she was sixteen, she had been able to defeat Rezsch and Rezsch had grudgingly acknowledged that she was a superior practitioner, but that she had to keep working to deserve her heritage, that character was destiny, that the story of her ancestors was her story now, that she had to remember she wasn't _hakujin_, that she had a destiny to fulfill. He'd once told her she was "_sōzokujin no eigo_" to the "_oni_" - but she had not known what that actually meant in relation to herself or her life now. That seemed like something from a time long gone, from a past that has long vanished. They all feel like an illusion now. A delusion. She is no heir, anymore than she has some destiny to fulfill, a heritage to uphold. He had taught her many things, Nyssa knows. He had trained her in many things that would prove useful later in life – hand-to-hand combat, a variety of martial arts that included ninjitsu, karate and tai chi. He had taught her how to speak other languages, taught her many things about life. Rezsch had been gone for years now. Though she tries not to think of him, she cannot help but do. Rezsch had been such a part of her early life that she thinks of him anyway.

She takes a deep breath.

She realizes she cannot sleep anymore and decides to take a morning jog.

After changing into a black hooded tracksuit, tucking a small gun by her leg and leaving a message for Sara, who would be gone by the time she gets back, already on her way to her apartment, then on to her work at the Glades, she steps out of her apartment and starts her morning jog.

* * *

><p>She thinks about Steven Powers as she jogs.<p>

She thinks about the head blown off, face unrecognizable, the hands tied behind his back, the blood, the body lying on the ground, the smell of death. She thinks about his anguish as the words are carved on his back, thinks about the inevitable screams, his plea for mercy. She thinks about him alone, drowning, the dark struggle against death, that valiant effort to hold one's breath, profound unconsciousness, the final convulsions, terminal gasps in grip of death, heart halted and brain ceasing.

She thinks about the Verdant, the number "87", the flash drive. The data Cisco had found out. Why was Powers or whoever he was, in possession of files on chemical and biological warfare? What did he have to do with it? Why was he killed for it? Why had he been tortured? Why had they taken the time to write "_You have failed_" on the back of the victim? Why had they put the word "beast" beneath it? To mark the victim? To send a message? How were all these connected to anything? To his clients for one? Is any of this connected to his time working with the drug cartel? Had he been found and killed for his betrayal? But what of the seemingly random weapons project files on the flash drive? How would a drug cartel be in the business of chemical and biological warfare? She had looked at the backgrounds of the victim's clients – they all seemed like upstanding citizens. Nothing makes sense.

She thinks about the wife, his widow, and the child – both of them not knowing he had been living a double life. She thinks about Powers living a lie, burying his old self, Sebastian Blood and his past, for a new life in a new city. But the past had caught up with Blood anyway. And now he is dead.

She thinks about her dream. The bokken. Hakujin. _Zenshin_. Did it serve as warning or reminder? She did not believe in premonitions. She did believe in taking precautions. In having total awareness of her surroundings, of being mindful of it.

There are a few people in the park, old people walking their dogs, young people jogging, some in the middle of the grass stretching.

There are thick cedars, alders, maples, the first misty light of a cool morning illuminating the park, the whine of the wind brushing her cheeks. The birch and alder are going golden and red, the rust autumn hue of the vine maples, the russet colors of autumn, the smell of the dying leaves in the motionless gray morning are drifting into her nostrils. She breathes in the early morning fall rain that made the pavement of the park slippery. Fall is in full swing, a time of bleak light. The park smells of it, smells of the autumn rain. She likes jogging here, because it reminds her of her childhood jogging around the island, surrounded by the woods – the woods where she had cultivated the kind of tranquillity Rezsch had demanded of her for her training. She'd sat among the trees and opened her eyes to the woods. As far back as she could recall the content of her early days consisted of being surrounded by a silent forest, and in the park now, it comes close to what she had when she was younger. She remembers the island – the spring time of trees in full bloom, the beautiful autumn, the harsh summer, the even harsher winters when trees were sodden and smelled pungently of rot, of fallen, defeated trees.

Now, in the park, she can see straight rows of trees, trimmed grass, benches, paved walkways, different from the half a thousand year old trees of the island, the forest floor littered with fallen trees and leaves, crunching beneath her feet as she jogged for hours every day. She had spent some of that time when she was younger counting the rings of fallen trees more than six hundred years old. She'd sat among fallen trunks watching animals – deer, rabbits, foxes. She would eventually be trained to shoot arrows at these animals she used to watch in the forests, and she had gotten so good at it she could shoot an arrow for yards and hit her target. At that age, the world was incomprehensible to her, but the forest made a simple sense, like the bokken, the kendo, the katana, naginata, kaiken, the bow and arrow she had been taught to use. The forest helped silence her mind, helped her think.

The park is helping her now, calming her.

She stops by some bushes, takes a few breaths, starts to move hands and feet in the graceful motions of a martial art Rezsch had once taught her. She remembers what Rezsch had taught her – the movements of the yin, slow, repetitive, meditative, low-impact and the yang, active, fast, high-impact. She remembers the terms - parting the wild horse's mane, grasping the bird's tail, standing like a post.

She watches as a tall, auburn-haired woman in jeans, a jacket and a coat, with a roll of the morning newspaper tucked under her arm approach the bench inches from where she is exercising and sits down. The woman takes the newspaper and opens it and starts to read.

Nyssa continues to move her hands, her feet, her body, inhaling deeply as she concentrates on the movements.

"Another one of your...many skill sets?" the woman suddenly speaks up, turning a page of the newspaper as she does so, not looking at Nyssa.

Nyssa doesn't look at her, continues to move her hands as she says, "_Tai-chi_. Helps me think."

The woman just turns a page. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Nyssa slowly turns her head, slowly turns on her side, puts her hands up, tries to feel the energy flowing through her fingers, palms, the sides of her hands, her wrists, forearms, elbows, shoulders, back, hips, knees. She slowly bends her elbows and knees.

"What do you have for me?"

"Same as before. He's still dead."

"We know that. Do you have anything new for us?"

She sees a man jogging right past them, on the walkway, not even glancing at them.

"He wasn't shot through the head. He was drowned."

"Found anything on his person? His house?"

Nyssa takes a deep breath. "No. He was tortured. And he used to go by a different name. Sebastian Blood. Ring a bell?"

The woman, Agent Michaels, sits there, ostensibly reading the paper, turns a page, before she speaks up. "That's way above your pay grade. Let us know if you have something new."

"Then I need a raise," Nyssa retorts. "He also seems to have been connected to some drug cartel of sorts...hence the name change...I'm guessing he went under witness protection after and that's why the FBI is now involved in this. Care to enlighten me about this?"

When Agent Michaels doesn't say anything, Nyssa says, "Agent Michaels, it would actually be very helpful if you could tell me what I'm actually looking for. What connections we're looking for. Why this man was executed. How he's connected to whatever the agency thinks is some impending danger. Or whatever the agency has gotten itself into. That would probably narrow down my search. Help me with my investigation."

The woman thinks about this for a few seconds, before she says, "Intel suggests an imminent terrorist attack on American soil. We don't know when or where, we've done the threat assessments, cities are always a viable target, but with the summit that's going to be held here, we suspect Star could be a target. We don't know what's going to happen but we know it's going to be huge. We just know it's some suspected terrorist organization, with someone or something named _Ra'iis_. So what we're looking for is a connection. Between Powers and whoever he's working for. We suspect he or anything connected to him can lead us to that connection..."

"But Powers is dead."

The other woman hesitates. "Yes."

"Don't you think that impedes your plans for foiling a terrorist attack on American soil?"

"That's where you come in obviously," the woman says. "You know the drill..."

"Yes, I do, obviously," Nyssa replies sarcastically. "Except it's all a dead-end at the moment, and I feel like a headless chicken running around chasing dead-ends. Even you asking me to go deep into SCPD is not yielding results...the lead you had was a dead-end...I had a hard time convincing them I wasn't Internal Affairs as it is...No one and nothing there can help us..."

The woman doesn't say anything for a moment, but then she speaks up as she folds the newspaper. "Keep looking. There's a connection there somewhere and we need to know what it is. We'll be in touch. Keep us posted. I don't even have to remind you to be careful, but I think you already know that. Just...be discreet about the methods you employ...One of the reasons we got you on the field is your...unorthodox methods and your willingness to do what it takes to get the best results..."

Nyssa wants to ask her about the files found on Powers/Blood, the data for chemical and biological weapons, Axis, Mirakuru, 87 and the cryptic word "beast" but she decides against it for the time being and watches as the woman then tucks the newspaper back into her arm, gets up and leaves.

After a few minutes, Nyssa decides to leave as well.

Nyssa jogs around the park one last time before taking the long route back to the apartment. It is a Saturday, and already the park is filling up with couples, families, friends strolling, running, jogging, playing, picnicking in the park.

A breeze tosses the leaves in the cedars, alders, birch lining the park and the sidewalks, leaves falling on the ground. A gust catches Nyssa hair, and clothes. She shudders against the wind and slowly makes her way to Cisco's apartment.

* * *

><p>Nyssa is on her way to Cisco's apartment, as much to check up on him as to get the information from him. At first, she thinks everything is okay, nothing is out of the ordinary, except for two men in plain, dark clothes hurrying away from the same alley, but then she sees the apartment building door ajar, and immediately thinks there is something wrong, that something is not right. Something looked suspicious. She looks around at the surrounding buildings, at the streets, before she goes in.<p>

* * *

><p>Sara Lance sits behind the wheel of a black, unmarked sedan, in a leather jacket, jeans and sneakers, slumped behind the wheel, parked by the side of a street, shielded by a cedar tree, a car parked infront of her and a parking meter.<p>

She had waited a good number of minutes after Nyssa had left before she followed her in the car.

She now watches as Nyssa parks the car a few streets from the alley, opens and slams the door, walks casually down the street and glancing around casually to check before she turns the corner into an alley.

Her phone rings just then.

"Authentication?" the voice, deep, male, neutral, prompts her.

"Cardiff, Wales, Slough, Brighton, York, Manchester," she reads mechanically from a small crumpled piece of paper in her hand. "Sheila, Lima, 8,7."

"Code name?"

"Canary. Charlie-Alpha-November-Alpha-Romeo-Yankee."

"Connecting," the voice says, there is a click and another voice comes on.

"Status?"

"She's meeting someone..."

"Contact?"

"I don't know."

"Does she know anything?"

"No," Sara says. "As far as I know..."

"Keep following her," the voice says. "Are you armed?"

"Yes."

"You know what to do."

* * *

><p>Nyssa gingerly steps into the hall, sees the flickering light, notes how silent the building is. She makes her way up the stairs, reaches for her gun and slowly pulls it out, pointing out and loosely in front of her, safety off and ready to shoot. On the landing on the second floor, she cranes her neck, checks to see if there are people lurking around, finds no one, passes by every door before she finds Cisco's. The door is ajar, faint music playing inside.<p>

"Cisco?" she asks, slowly pushing the door open, one gun pointed inside.

There is no answer as the door creaks open.

She takes a few slow steps inside, checks her surroundings, gun trained out and in front of her. There is a small whimpering sound coming from the computer area. "Cisco?" she asks again.

She moves quickly to the living room and finds two people in ski masks holding a gun to a bloodied, swollen-faced, slumped Cisco, tied to a chair by the computer.

"Freeze! Police! Don't move!" she shouts even as the two men see her and train their guns on her instead.

Everything happens quickly after. She ducks and rolls and finds cover behind a chair, as she hears gunshots wheeze past her. She takes a deep breath, peers behind the chair, sees one of the men dive through the window and the other half-crouching in panic, not knowing what to do, and shooting at her. She calmly raises her arm, aims for the half-crouching man and shoots. The man moves, but not before the bullet hits the man's arm. The man jerks, shouts and Nyssa takes advantage of the situation by shooting at him again, this time taking him on the leg. The man jerks back again and screams before he takes aim and shoots Nyssa.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: That's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Many thanks to pictureofsuccess, kickangel and zarathustra for taking time off from their busy schedule to help with this. **_

_**Much thanks to the positive response for the last chapter. Keep the positive vibes coming – it helps with the updating. Cheers!**_


	3. Chapter 3

Nyssa senses the bullet coming towards her before she actually sees it.

She feels the bullet wheeze by her, stinging her throat, and she jerks back, twists and dives on the floor, gun still aimed at the man in front of her, pressing the trigger as she does so, hearing the gunshot explode, a thud, footsteps, a crash as of glass shattering and then silence.

She waits a beat, scrambling to have her back against the wall. But the silence is deafening, broken only by the distant whine of a car alarm, a dog barking, shouts, laughter. The world practically going on, the world pretending nothing is happening in this apartment, the world not wanting to get involved, despite the sound of gunshots in this apartment. That's the city for you, she thinks. She looks at herself, sees blood from her jacket, grabs her cellphone, dials 911 and as soon as the operator answers, quickly informs them of Cisco's condition, the gunshots, the men in the apartment. "I'm in pursuit of two suspects, male, right now. I need back-up," she says to the operator.

She checks on Cisco, feels a faint pulse on his throat, tries to talk to him, but Cisco is unresponsive at first. He twitches then, gasps, gurgles, tries to move his fist and she looks down and sees him clenching something.

"Don't worry, help's on the way," she whispers soothingly even as Cisco opens his fist, revealing a flash drive.

She looks at the flash drive, looks up at Cisco, who is trying to breathe, his breath wheezy as he does so. His face is bruised and swollen, one of his eyes swollen shut, streaks of blood on his face and his shirt, blood flowing over the illustration of a flash of lightning on a red background. Cisco is trying to open his mouth, trying to say something, coughing and wheezing as he does so. Nyssa looks at him, tries to assure him with a look that he is going to be okay – but in truth, he looks as though he'd been dragged face down over a freshly-graveled road, the skin on his face all but shredded. If Nyssa is going to hazard a guess, Cisco might have incurred damage in his lungs. They had beaten him up pretty badly.

"The phone, Cisco, where is it?" she asks then.

Cisco manages to shake his head and whisper, between wheezes, "Sorry."

"It's fine. You're going to be fine," Nyssa says then, as she hears the sirens growing closer.

She pockets the flash drive, tightens her grip on her gun, goes to the window, peers out, steps out of it, lands on the fire exit, slides down the ladder to the alley leading to the street. She walks quickly but cautiously towards the end of the alley, checking nearby buildings, streets, cars passing by – but the streets seem strangely empty at this time of the morning. She feels the breeze against her hair, against her tracksuit, feels the hardness of the concrete pavement against her sneakers. The sky is blue, the sun shining; she can see the ambulance ahead. She notices the trees lining the streets that have been laid with such precision. The trees look petrified. Birds are rising from them now into the clearing sky. Magpies, she thinks. Magpies and pigeons. Holding out til the last of fall before retreating for the winter. She can see curious faces appearing once more at windows and doors, ready to hide their heads at the merest sign of trouble. There is no gunman in sight. She leans against the wall of a building, glances down and realizes then that the bullet has grazed her throat; that there is blood on her neck and the collar of her tracksuit. In the distance she can see a young man, African American, in a dirty, greasy coat, and equally dirty, greasy jeans and shirt, a wool cap on his head, fingerless gloves on his hands, tattered tennis shoes on his feet. He is holding a cart in front of him, across the street, standing on the sidewalk, looking at her with surprise on his face. A homeless man, she thinks. The man hurriedly pushes his cart away from her.

She is breathing hard, feels sweat on her back, sweat trickling on her face. She inhales the crisp, cold air and waits for the dizziness to pass.

* * *

><p>Sara is standing on the side of a building, peering in front of her, looking across the street, to a brick building, where she had heard gunshots, seen one man in a ski-mask hastily running in the opposite direction, sees him take off the mask with a gloved hand before he quickly disappears down the street, hears a couple more gunshots, silence, waits a few more beats then sees another masked man, wounded and limping, emerge from the same alley, sees a car squeal to a halt in front of him, and he gets into the car, slams the door shut and the car drives away quickly.<p>

Standing there, hidden from what is happening across the street, she debates what to do – follow the men, follow Nyssa or leave to do her job another day.

She'd gone to follow Nyssa to this apartment building, heart pumping, adrenaline rushing, expecting the worst, letting all her training kick in, the gun already out and ready in her hands as her feet pound on the pavement, the wind in her hair, the cold beating against her cheeks.

Then she hears gunshots, and she stops, assessing the situation and thinking about what to do next. She has orders. Orders she should follow, but she couldn't obey her orders without compromising her cover. The street is empty, she cannot see tenants – either they are away at work, or staying away from the trouble, cowering behind closed doors. Either way, she is glad that there are no civilians in this building getting in the way.

Suddenly, she sees Nyssa emerge from where the masked men are, hears the distant screams of ambulance sirens, watches Nyssa as the other woman leans against the wall of the building, sees the blood from her throat, the blood on her shirt, the gun in her right hand, sees her close her eyes for a second as if exhausted. She is looking around, checking buildings, checking the streets, checking her surroundings. Sara stands back and away from where Nyssa is standing, standing by a corner of a building across the trees, the side of the building hidden by a fence and cedar trees. Her gun is still out, but now concealed by the sleeve of her shirt.

Her heart is beating fast, she does not know what to think but the gun feels cold and yet reassuring against her clammy fingers. She feels the biting wind against her, finds it calming her down. All she can think of though is that Nyssa had shot men. This is what Nyssa is capable of, she thinks. This is what she's allowed herself to be part of. She suddenly realizes she is way in too deep in this.

She'd been warned against Nyssa. She is highly intelligent, a lethal, highly-trained killer, she would kill without hesitation, she had been told during her briefing. When she had been given this assignment, she had not thought twice about accepting it, it was part of her job, part of her mission, to find justice for her sister, Dinah, to find the truth about what happened to her and she had been aware that part of the reason she'd been chosen for this assignment had not just been for her very specific skill set and training, but probably had something to do with what they suspected was Nyssa's proclivities. It had never been confirmed until the night they met at that charity fund-raising dinner party Sara's organization had thrown to raise money for the youth of the Glades last spring. She had been nervous and apprehensive about her assignment. She had been nervous and apprehensive about coming back to Star with a cover story and a set of lies that are supposed to make people believe she had taken a couple of years off to find herself, when in truth she had been training, she had been working for the government, she had been working on missions like this. It had already proved difficult just re-establishing ties with her father, with her older, surviving sister, Laurel, who looked at her with guilt and remorse and her mother, who would rather divorce her father and move to Central City, rather than stay and deal with her grief. It had proved difficult to see Star once again, to pass by parks and streets and shops where she had used to go with Dinah. She had been close to Dinah, closer to her than to her other sister, and she had taken it hardest when Dinah disappeared. It had even proved difficult to see old friends – and she'd found herself avoiding them, rather than mustering the courage to even say hello to them.

Her recruiter, her instructors, her boss, her handler had all said she was making the right decision, doing her patriotic duty by serving her country, protecting America from the internal and external threats to its national security, that she is making the world a better place, but in her mind, Sara is doing it for her late sister, to honor her sister, to honor her memory, to find justice for her, to punish whoever did it to her. She'd devoted her life to seeking to find out the truth, and if the truth led her to the other side of the world, if the truth led her to work for the government, if the truth led her to Nyssa Raatko, and whatever Nyssa was or _is_, then she would be prepared to do what needed to be done to achieve her objective. She would do whatever it takes.

And so, with anxiety and anticipation and steely resolve she had gone to the party fully intending to establish contact with her target, reminding herself of her vow to her long gone sister. She'd watched and waited and prepared herself, ready to expect the worst, but that had disappeared when she saw Nyssa for the first time.

The screams of the sirens grow louder.

Sara takes it as her cue to leave.

She gets to live to fight another day.

So does Nyssa.

She leaves.

* * *

><p>Nyssa hears the sirens before she sees the ambulance and the squad cars. She debates briefly whether she should leave now or deal with them, but decides against it, thinking that might look even more suspicious, so she tucks her gun on the waistband of her pants, takes out her badge and shows it to the cops who respond to the incident.<p>

Later, in which she gives her statement, makes sure Cisco is safe and headed to the hospital, and has a paramedic look at the graze on her shoulder, clean the wound and bandage it up, she receives a call from Lance.

"Where are you?" the man asks her.

"I've...got a little situation here," Nyssa says and quickly explains what has happened to her, conveniently leaving out the part where the reason she suspected Cisco had been attacked was because of her. She had, instead, told Lance that she'd been around Cisco's neighborhood and had come upon a robbery in progress.

After Lance is assured that Nyssa is fine, his concern surprising Nyssa, Lance says, "Alright, meet me at the Queen Consolidated Towers. Walter Steele's agreed to see us; he's attending some business or board meeting or event or something later so we're running out of time."

"Alright, I'll meet you there, let me go home and change first," Nyssa says.

Nyssa cuts the call and pockets her cellphone. As soon as she does so, she looks up, happens to look across the street and she could swear she could see the same homeless young man staring at her a few minutes ago. She ignores him and heads to her car.

* * *

><p>After having gone home and changed and navigating heavier traffic than is normal by Star City standards – there are protesters downtown with placards saying "Occupy Star!" and "Occupy Star's World Economic Summit!" and screaming about capitalism, coupled with the arrival of world leaders, their security detail, traffic cops diverting cars from main thoroughfares to alternate routes for security reasons – the general chaos an event like an international economic summit brings, Nyssa finally arrives at the formidable Star Towers.<p>

Lance greets her with a "You look like a sight for sore eyes, what happened to you?" as they head towards the conference room Walter Steele's secretary is leading them to.

Nyssa's cellphone rings, so she checks to see who it is, finds out it is Barry, informs Lance, "It's Barry, I have to take this call", Lance nods and she moves off to the side and takes the call.

"Raatko," she answers and after they exchange the necessary pleasantries, Barry takes a deep breath and says, "Two things. Remember that particulate matter found on the body's head? It's... granite and rhyolite...with silicon dioxide..and some iron, magnesium, magnetite nanoparticles...it's produced when felsic lava extruded from a volcano cools rapidly with minimum crystal growth...it's commonly found within the margins of rhyolitic lava flows where the chemical composition induces a high viscosity and polymerization degree of the lava..."

Nyssa narrows her eyes, looks thoughtful, says, "Obsidian...?"

Barry says excitedly, "Yes. That's kind of awesome you know that. Dr. Banks saw like a one-inch thick injury on the head of the victim, near the right ear, probably as a result of blunt force trauma..."

"Made by some kind of weapon made of obsidian," Nyssa says, nodding.

"Yeah, the high viscosity and polymerization degree of obsidian makes it harder and more brittle and sharper than high quality surgical scalpels, but which also makes it fracture upon impact," Barry says. Nyssa can already imagine him grinning.

"They must have incapacitated him, tortured him, drowned him, and brought his body back to his house then shot him," Nyssa surmises.

"Yes. Also, I've got the test results back on the particulate matter on the bootprints and on the vic's clothes..."

"Yes?"

"And it's calcium bicarbonate," Barry says.

"Which is found in sea..."

"Shells, yeah," Barry quickly completes the word for her. "Good call. Bivalves to be exact. Found in sandy beaches and lagoons...and not just any kind of seashells – but crushed seashells..."

"Crushed seashells?" Nyssa asks.

"Yep. Crushed seashells with traces of oil, freshwater and seawater and some bacteria...So, like, the crushed seashells aren't really that much of a thing, unless you count musical instruments...but based on analysis, and well, crushed seashells, it's helped narrow down our search for a possible murder scene. See, years ago, back when Star still used to be Starling and there were all these factories and warehouses and whatever, there was this big plan to increase Star's land area, so, like, they started this reclamation project over on the south side of the city, by the harbor, and they used a combination of sand and crushed seashells to do that...and there was some kind of minor oilspill there a few months back...So based on all that data, I've since concluded the vic may have been murdered at..." He pauses and she hears the tapping of the keyboard. "Port Franklin. I had Felicity kind of give me an idea what Port Franklin has to offer – it's got restaurants, boats, yachts and stuff like that, but check it out... there's a yacht there that's registered to a Walter Steele named Queen's Gambit. I'm sending you the image now..."

"Allen, this is pretty good sleuthing," Nyssa says.

"I know, right? Who's your daddy?" Barry asks. But when Nyssa says nothing, Barry quickly adds, "Or not. But admit it, Barry done good, no?"

Nyssa smiles. "This is helpful, thank you. I'll let Lance know."

"Oh, hey, one more thing?"

"What?"

"There's one more thing I found on the vic's clothes...a hair sample," Barry says. "Blond, long, I'm having it analyzed now and having Felicity cross-reference it to known police databases. Maybe that will help us."

"Alright."

"Excellent! Later, detective!"

* * *

><p>"Detective Raatko, Mr. Walter Steele, CEO of Queen Consolidated, Mr. Steele, Detective Raatko," Lance says introducing Nyssa while talking to Walter Steele in the conference room. "And of course, you already know Laurel Lance."<p>

"Detective," Steele says, by way of greeting, sitting at the head of the long conference table in an expensive suit, leaning back and smiling at Nyssa.

"Mr. Steele," Nyssa replies. "Lance," she says less warmly to the lawyer, who, she has been given to believe, is also Walter Steele's lawyer. She does not betray the surprise and curiosity on her face as she nods at Laurel. Laurel only looks at her, sitting calmly beside Steele, briefcase by her feet, face expressionless, all business and silent efficiency.

"I hope you don't mind me bringing my lawyer here. She was here on business anyway, thought I'd ask her to sit in on this one as well," Steele says, still smiling. "And please, call me Walter."

Nyssa smiles back. Walter Steele is CEO and President of Queen Consolidated, a company that had started out in steel manufacturing, but had, since then, expanded into electronics, and recently, software design, finding modest success in government contracts.

Nyssa looks at the room. It is a large, airy, bright conference room with large windows that occupy most of the fourth wall, giving them a great view of Star City's skyline. It is sparsely decorated, except for a framed photograph of a yacht called "The Queen's Gambit" by a table off to the side, and on the other side of the room, at the end of the other table, is a display cabinet displaying different kinds of weapons. Nyssa takes a discreet, admiring look.

"I see you like my weapons collection," Steele says. "Collected it from my travels around the world. It's a bit of my hobby. I moved it here after my ex-wife told me she couldn't stand seeing all those weapons back home. When we divorced, I hoped to move it back, but I kind of like seeing it here."

Nyssa only nods. She sees a few knives with jade and ivory handles, spears, bows and arrows, and there, off to the side, is a bowstaff with obsidian ends, and an obsidian dagger. "Is this obsidian?" she asks, turning to look at Steele.

Steele nods. "Good eye. Yes. Obsidian has always fascinated me."

There is a silence that follows this in which Nyssa's mind is racing with the possibilities and implications of finding where the possible murder weapon could be, but she only smiles and nods, face impassive before Steele continues. "As I was telling Detective Lance here earlier, I was nowhere near or around Steven Powers at the time of his death...Ever since he left my employ we haven't been in touch."

"Mrs. Powers said you met him at Verdant the night he died?" Lance says, expression and voice neutral as he jots down notes on his little leather notepad.

Steele shakes his head. "No. He canceled that. I was here that night. As you know I am a member of the Star City Chamber of Commerce, and we had a meeting that night as well. So I wouldn't have the time to murder a man who was no longer working for me and still run a company and attend to my duties at the Chamber of Commerce. We're on the eve of launching a safety security systems software that's going to revolutionize the way we handle security. We're hoping that's going to put us on the map. So you see, detective, killing Steven Powers would be the last thing on my mind. If you don't believe me, there are CCTV cameras here and at Verdant – I'm what you may call a private investor of the club after all. I've had my secretary provide you with a copy of the footage from that night, which will tell you that I was nowhere near Mr. Powers at the time of his death."

As if on cue, Steele's secretary knocks, comes in with a flash drive and hands it to Steele. Steele thanks the young woman and hands the flash drive to Lance. Lance accepts it without a word.

"Is that it, then?" Steele asks Lance.

"Yes, I think that's it. Unless there's anything else you could share to us that could help with our investigation?"

Steele hesitates, as if thinking of something, before he speaks up again. "There was a reason why I terminated Mr. Powers' services."

"Oh?" Lance says, pen poised in the air, waiting for Steele to continue.

"I terminated Mr. Powers' services because I found some discrepancies in his bookkeeping practices," Steele says. "Our accountant would be more than happy to explain to you what those were. And the fact that he'd accidentally divulged some company information about an acquisition to our competitors. I wasn't too happy with that."

Lance nods, writing this down. "Do you know of any clients Mr. Powers also worked for aside from you? Someone he may have had a disagreement with?"

"You could also talk to my ex-wife, Moira Dearden. She's the widow of my best friend Robert Queen who was also the former CEO of Queen Consolidated. He does the books for her, too. I highly doubt she had something to do with it though."

"Thanks, thanks so much for your time, Mr. Steele." Lance stands up.

* * *

><p>"What do you think?" Lance asks Nyssa once they conclude their questioning and are headed to the elevator.<p>

"The plot thickens," Nyssa says, "We've got a possible motive from Steele here. He found out his accountant was stealing from the company, divulged some company secrets...I mean, yes, he's saying he didn't do it, but he's a wealthy CEO of one of the biggest companies in Star City – who's to say he didn't hire somebody else to do the dirty job for him?" Then Nyssa explains to him what Dr. Banks and Barry had found on the vic's body and clothes, the obsidian and crushed seashells and how Walter Steele seems to keep the exact same objects with obsidian in it, and how the Queen's Gambit ties in with what Mrs. Powers had said and the results pointing to Powers drowning in seawater.

Lance says, "Well, that's convenient."

Nyssa looks at him. "You think he's being framed?"

"I don't know what to think," Lance says. "This is all so convoluted and confusing somehow. And don't even get me started on why the FBI is involved."

"You didn't tell me your daughter is Steele's lawyer, too," Nyssa says after a silence, deciding to change the subject for the time being. "Small world."

"In a place like Star City, it sometimes feels like it. She specializes in corporate and criminal law, a bit of an overachiever that one," Lance says, smiling proudly as he says so. "She likes to win. Don't let her get to you."

"She's not," Nyssa says, quickly. "Getting to me, I mean."

Lance only smiles at her.

As they get into the elevator, he turns to Nyssa then and says, "You know what we need?"

"What?"

"Pie. Chocolate-covered cheesecake pie," Lance says, "And brewed coffee. That kind that tastes like dirt and sets your heart to beating so fast you think you're going to have a heart attack. That's what we need."

"I thought you _had_ a heart condition."

Lance snorts. "So Laurel keeps reminding me. Whatever. Pie and coffee help me think. I'm buying and that's that."

Nyssa grins.

From behind them, a man says, "Might I suggest the pie and coffee at Jitters just across the street?"

They both turn around and see a handsome, chiseled man in an expensive silver gray suit in his forties grinning from ear to ear.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear. I've tried the cheesecake pie at Jitters and it is simply divine," the man continues, still grinning. When Lance and Nyssa do not know what to say, the man offers a hand and introduces himself. "Merlyn. Malcolm Merlyn. Of Merlyn Incorporated. I was on my way up to meet Walter but my forgetful employee here forgot something in the car. Silly, little man." Behind him stands the aforementioned young, thin, blond man in an ill-fitting executive suit, looking like he would rather be wearing a plaid shirt over a superhero tee with jeans, a baseball cap and sneakers. The temporary visitor's pass pinned on his chest indicates that he is a visitor like the older man, the pass indicating that his name is Seldon Cooper of Merlyn Incorporated. Nyssa guesses he is an employee of the handsome man. He looks awkward, uncomfortable and visibly embarrassed that his efficiency would be called into question by his boss even as he is standing behind a man radiating charisma and confidence. Merlyn does not introduce the young man.

Lance shakes his hand and says, "Detective Quentin Lance, SCPD. This is my partner, Detective Nyssa Raatko."

Merlyn smiles at Nyssa and shakes her hand, as well.

"Detectives? Are you here about that dreadful thing that happened to that man, Steven Powers? Sad thing what happened to that one."

"You know Steven Powers?"

Merlyn shakes his head. "Not really. I guarantee you I am not the killer. I employ the services of a different accountant." When Lance raises his eyebrows, Merlyn explains, "Conflict of interests and all that. Although, you never know, things can still change."

When the elevator door finally opens, Merlyn quickly says, "Nice to meet you, detectives."

When the door closes, Nyssa asks, "Who is that?"

"Malcolm Merlyn, Merlyn Inc., invested company money on business ventures that almost sank his company to the ground. Wanted to expand the company. I don't know what they were – pharmaceuticals or something like that. Wanted to imitate the Queen Consolidated business model. Word has it he's selling Merlyn or looking for a possible merger with Queen Consolidated, but who knows?" Lance says. "He's more well-known for some tragedy that happened to his wife way back when. Devastated him, I heard. Had some major lifestyle change after." When Nyssa looks at him as if in question, Lance explains, "He started shunning parties, the rich and famous, converted to some religion or something – Islam or Buddhism or something like that, I don't know. Started being vegetarian, apparently became some kind of total monk or something, very together. Guess you'd go through that if you lost someone..."

Nyssa nods, not saying anything, tempted to ask how he himself had coped with the loss of a daughter. Instead, she says, "Pie?"

Lance grins. "Definitely."

* * *

><p>After stopping for pie and coffee at Jitters across from Queen Towers, the detectives go back to the police station, but not before Nyssa spots a familiar homeless looking young man looking at her from one of the cars parked a few cars down. She stops and stares as she opens her car.<p>

"What?" Lance asks.

Nyssa turns to Lance and turns back, to see that the man has gone. She blinks, shakes her head, and says, "Nothing. Thought I saw a ghost or something."

Lance shrugs and gets into the car.

* * *

><p>When Barry and Felicity see her entering the precinct, they both stop and stare. Lance has gone off to file his reports, and, in his words, interview Moira Dearden and the other known associates of Steven Powers. "Might as well," he had said with a shrug as he leaves Nyssa with Barry and Felicity, "Will go over the CCTV footage, too. Make some calls, corroborate what they've told us. Maybe get some search warrant for the Queen's Gambit." Nyssa had nodded then.<p>

"What happened to you?" Barry asks now, "You look like crap."

"Oh my god, what happened to your neck?" Felicity says, looking worried as she comes up to look at Nyssa's throat.

"Are you...okay though?" Felicity asks, concerned. "Why do you have a bandage on your throat?"

"Bullet grazed my throat," Nyssa says, business-like. "It's fine. Police business. _I'm_ fine. It's a regrettably superficial wound. Won't take me off police work I'm afraid. What are you two kids talking about?"

Barry shrugs. Felicity answers, "Serial killers. And before that, what you would do if you only had three days to live. We still haven't answered that one. It's a difficult question."

"Okay..." Nyssa says.

"Yeah, as for serial killers, it's serial killers as depicted on television," Barry adds. "We were just talking about how television has kind of romanticized the serial killer or the murderer really, as some kind of extremely intelligent, highly philosophical, very clever kind of person who thinks of his crime as some kind of art form, his way of subverting the system, of resisting social conformity and stuff...like in shows like 'Dexter', or 'Hannibal', or 'True Detective'...when in reality, while there are some serial killers with high IQs and stuff, most are pretty average, and they're usually motivated by something less lofty than existential nihilism..."

"And what are they motivated by then?" Nyssa asks.

"You know what most people are motivated by," Barry points out with a grin. "We're here right now for this very same reason...money."

"That's a good point," Felicity says, thinking out loud.

A voice interrupts them.

"Please say it's a hickie and your sorry excuse is you slipped and fell while shaving or something," McKenzie Jansen comes up and says to her with a leer.

Nyssa scowls at Jansen then and says, "I'd punch you right now, but I've just been shot on the throat and I'm cranky, Jansen, so piss off."

"Is 'punch-McKenzie-Jansen' your default setting all the time?" Jansen asks now. "It's Fourth-of-July-weekend, let's punch Jansen; it's some-guy-got-murdered-over-the-weekend, let's punch Jansen, it's..."

"When you stop being a prick, maybe I'll stop feeling the urge to punch you in the face," Nyssa says.

Jansen rolls his eyes and moves off.

They all hear a voice behind her say, "Detective Raatko."

She turns and sees FBI Agent John Diggle with two cups of coffee in his hand. When she raises an eyebrow as she accepts one of the coffees he offers, he says, apologetically, "It's...a peace offering...of sorts..."

Nyssa tilts her head. "What, for being pricks?"

"Yes, for that..."

"And for being unbearable wankers?"

Diggle smiles slightly.

"I'm just going back to my lab, and contemplate about quarks, the fifth dimension, binary digits...something like that," Barry says.

"I'm coming with you," Felicity says.

Nyssa and Diggle glance at Barry and Felicity leave before Diggle says, "Yes, that, too. Look, we were just doing our jobs, detective."

"We're just doing our jobs, too, Agent Diggle."

"Sorry. I apologize for that. And for Agent Queen's...bedside manners." He looks at her, curious then, and asks, "You from England?"

Nyssa shakes her head. "No. I spent time in uni there however."

"Ah. That explains so much," Diggle says.

"Thanks for the coffee," Nyssa says.

Diggle shrugs nonchalantly, a smile on his face.

"You need to tell us what's going on with this Powers murder," Nyssa says. "FBI wouldn't move in like this if this were just a simple murder."

Diggle takes a sip of his coffee then, nods and says, "A few years ago, we got hold of an accountant named Sebastian Blood – living over in Texas...brilliant guy, made a lot of rich people richer, made himself rich...he kept it all legit, paid his taxes...but he was also doing books for this Mexican drug cartel, the Mendez cartel. We'd had him on surveillance for months, hoped that by getting to him we could shut down the cartel. We had one of the top bosses in jail, but couldn't get any charges stick, so we got Blood, cut a deal with him – he would testify against them, put them away, and he would get immunity from prosecution, witness protection, the works. The cartel figured it out though, kidnapped his family – a wife and a son...tortured them for months, mailed a body part to him to get him to stop cooperating with the FBI."

"What happened?"

"They finally killed his wife and son, and he decided to just get on with it, we had the boss, they called him 'The Beast', put away, gave him a new identity and moved him to Star City. We thought that was the end of it – but the thing with drug cartels is...they don't go away. Months ago we started hearing about deaths. At first we didn't think there was any connection, but then we realized it was all the people we'd put under the witness protection program who had something to do with the Mendez cartel."

"And Sebastian Blood's name was up," Nyssa says.

Diggle nods. "Yes. We found some of our witnesses nailed to the ceiling, gunned down, beaten to death, stabbed and stuffed in refrigerators."

Nyssa nods. "Thanks for telling me. Have you told Detective Lance?"

"Yes. We suspect the Mendez Cartel is behind it, we're tracking them down all over the country – but these killers are...mercenaries, some of them came from the Guatemalan Special Forces...we thought maybe SCPD would need our help in this."

"Well, at least now we know what we're looking for." Nyssa turns and heads to her desk.

"Where are you going?" Diggle says.

"Following up some other leads. If the Mendez Cartel is behind this, that's fine, but I like to keep all other bases covered. I'll let you know if we have other leads."

* * *

><p>Nyssa drops into the deck of the "Queen's Gambit" quietly, unnoticed. The yacht seems deserted, sitting out on Port Franklin Harbor. An onshore breeze catches her hair in its clutches and she runs her fingers through it to keep it away from her face. The feel of her gun against her side is reassuring her as she makes her way through the yacht. Except for two young people just hanging around the harbor, the place is deserted. The tourists have already left. Port Franklin is alive only in the summer. The noise of living things seem muted – she could only see seagulls, lifting themselves skyward, thirty or forty birds, a clamor of wings, more of them than she imagined possible, half a hundred seagulls around Port Franklin, circling around the boats half-dozen times in arcs that took in the entire breadth of the docks, then settling into swells to seaward. A lone gull has perched arrogantly on the Queen's Gambit's port gunnel watching Nyssa intently. It is pearl gray and white winged, a young gull with a wide, flaring breast. Another breeze catches Nyssa's hair and she makes her way inside the yacht's cabin to look around. She doesn't exactly know what she is looking for – blood, hair, signs of a struggle, broken glass, something on the wall, a clue as to why Steven Powers was killed. But it's been days now, and the cabin, if it was the murder scene, is as neat and tidy as they come. She curses under her breath, looks at the leather sofa, the chair, the bed on the side, the table, the round window off to the wall, from which a small view of the glittering sea is showing. There is nothing here, she decides.<p>

Suddenly she hears a thump on deck and she turns to the sound, quickly goes up the stairs and takes a look.

There, on the deck, is the homeless young man she'd seen earlier.

"Hey!" she shouts.

The man stops, looks at her, and jumps back down on the docks.

Nyssa doesn't hesitate and takes off in hot pursuit.

* * *

><p>The man is fast, Nyssa gives him that. They run through the docks, past the boats and shops and bystanders, then they get to a street, he runs across the road, runs down the sidewalk, sidestepping surprised pedestrians, crashing into outdoor tables and chairs and produce displayed for shoppers. Nyssa stays close behind him, adjusting her breathing, never losing sight of the man, powerful legs taking her through streets and road, before she spots the man turn a corner, stupidly turn into an alley, and she runs up to him, grabs him and slams him against the brick wall. People pass by the alley ignoring them. She puts her arm against his throat, effectively choking him, her other arm holding and her body holding him firmly in place. She can taste the smell of sweat and fear and the smell of a body that has been unwashed for weeks. She tries not to scrunch up her nose as she says between gritted teeth, "Who sent you? Who are you?"<p>

The man gasps, tries to shake his head, eyes bulging out of his head. The sweat trickles down his forehead. He looks afraid. There are dark circles under his sunken eyes, a day-old beard on his chin, bones jutting out of his face. "Isaac...Isaac Stanzler..." he says.

"Why are you following me? Do you know who killed Steven Powers? What do you know about the Mendez Cartel?" she asks.

"You don't understand," he gasps, terrified of her. "You...you don't know what they're capable of..."

"Who's they?" she asks.

"You...you don't know who you are, do you...? Or what you are," he continues. "You don't know what people would pay to get you..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm like you, too, you know," he says, "But...something went wrong...the pills won't work anymore. I was due to be decommissioned...the project was terminated...I escaped...they're after me...they'll catch up with me soon...but you've still got a chance...you can still get away from them..."

"I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Operation Hell's Angels, that's what they called it," he said, "Their little angels of death...You weren't the first...you were from the second that came out...I'm...I'm in the third...didn't quite make the cut...some kind of malfunction...they've been going around hunting us...putting us down..." He looks in her eyes then through terrified, desperate eyes. "You can't trust anyone, not even yourself. These plots go back farther than we can imagine. You have to be careful. You have to get out of here..."

"I'm still not clear about what you're talking about..."

"Oh my god, they wiped your memory didn't they?" he says then, as if a realization has just dawned on him. "Wiped some parts of it that won't make you remember...kept just enough for you to remember your training...wiped just enough for you to forget what you were born for...You get it sometimes too, don't you? The dizziness? The nausea? You don't even remember Ra's, do you?"

"What dizziness?" she asks, trying not to let her voice waver in her resolve to find out what is going on and betray her curiosity. "Who's Ra's?"

"Your father...handler...whatever...This...this is bigger than you can imagine, man...I wouldn't be surprised if they had something to do with getting that guy killed..."

"And what was I born for?"

He looks at her then. "To bring the end of the world as we know it."

She is about to speak when Isaac Stanzler says, "Look, it's too dangerous. I've got to go. I'll call you. Don't look for me."

Before she could respond to that, she hears a gunshot and they both start, and as if on instinct, duck and run for cover behind some garbage bins. She takes out her gun, tries to shoot, but finds it difficult from her vantage point. It is followed by two more gunshots, a shout from Stanzler and she turns and finds Stanzler running, clambering up a chain link fence, landing on the other side and disappearing in another alley.

Isaac Stanzler is gone.

* * *

><p>Nyssa crouches there for what seems like forever, waits for the gunshots to subside, peers on the edge of the bin, listens, finds only silence interrupted by cars, shouts, people going about their business.<p>

She looks around, up in the surrounding buildings, through the alley, on the street, and on the buildings across. There is nothing. Nothing to show that there had been people trying to kill them.

Half an hour later, she decides to go back to the precinct to file her reports, check in with Detective Lance and the FBI agents for any developments, find none and follow up a few more leads, none of which help with their investigation. At the end of the day, she stops by Star General, to check on Cisco's condition. After the doctor sees her badge, he informs her that he's in stable condition and has been given a sedative so he can rest.

She goes back to her car and sits there for what seems like forever, heat turned on, windows closed, finding warmth in the cold autumn afternoon, finding this Steven Powers case growing odder and odder, as if there's a piece of the puzzle that she's missing that would help with her investigation. She takes out her pad, writes down Steven Powers' name, Walter Steele's name, the Mendez Cartel, the Queen's Gambit, then draws a question mark across each name, thinking about each one in turn. Steven Powers had possibly been knocked unconscious with an object that had some obsidian in it, been tortured and drowned, the body dumped at the Powers residence and shot in the head to obscure the evidence. There is a motive, but a flimsy one. She believes there are deeper ones, but obscured by all these other distracting elements. But which one to eliminate? Which lead to follow?

And there is the mystery of Isaac Stanzler, telling her all these cryptic things that puzzled her. By all accounts, the man seems like some kind of escaped lunatic from an asylum, one of those conspiracy nuts that they sometimes get at the precinct, spouting theories on how the government and the big corporations are in league to keep the rest of humanity in slavery. It all sounds ridiculous, she thinks. It couldn't be possible. And he spoke as if she is playing some central role in a government conspiracy that would shake the world to its very foundation. What did it all mean? After such an unremarkable younger life, has she been called now to play a part in which she has no knowledge of? Is she a diversion or a scapegoat?

She shakes her head, takes out Powers cellphone, looks at it, turns it over, finds nothing there. She turns it on, swipes her finger on the screen, and finds that it is the same as before. The way Cisco had been with it, it seemed important somehow. She takes the cellphone apart, and a small, blank piece of paper falls to her lap. She picks it up, holds it up to the light, holds it away, feels the heat from the heater and then suddenly, words appear on the paper. Slowly, two words appear on the paper. A name. Caitlin Snow. And a number for Central City. She looks at the name and mulls it over.

* * *

><p>When Nyssa arrives home that day, Sara takes one look at her and concern washes over her.<p>

"Hey, you look like crap, what happened to you?" she asks, walking up to Nyssa and putting a finger on the square of gauze on Nyssa's throat. A barrage of questions, coupled with a voice that's slowly rising to a high-pitched, near hysterical, worried voice follows this first question and Nyssa has to smile and assure Sara she is okay.

In the end, Nyssa says, "Graze to the throat. No big deal. Honestly. I'll live. I think I might need some tender loving care though."

Sara smiles. "Yeah? I think you got yourself shot on purpose just so you can get an excuse for me to take care of you."

Nyssa lifts a corner of her lips in a half-smirk, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Sara smiles back.

Sara takes one more step forward, looks at Nyssa. Nyssa looks back. Neither one speaks, the silence spreading in and around them. Finally Nyssa sighs, reaches out for Sara's hand and pulls Sara towards her, and in a few moments her lips are on Sara's, gentle and soft, her other hand cupping Sara's face. Sara comes forward willingly, putting her hands on Nyssa's waist and pressing herself against Nyssa.

* * *

><p>Sara Lance had met Nyssa Raatko because she'd wanted to meet her.<p>

Sara remembers clearly how she had met her, how she had met her not with trepidation, but with with an intense and deep desire.

Nyssa had looked at her that night, at the party, with enormous deliberation, a cryptic look aimed at her fleetingly. Sara could not read what her eyes meant. Later, months later, she still couldn't read the expression on her face – but she knows that that night she had wanted to know Nyssa. Nyssa's eyes were hard eyes set in a proud, defiant, still face. They were the eyes of a woman with concealed emotions, the eyes of a woman hiding something. It had been no accident that she had been given this assignment. Nyssa Raatko was striking. She was quite impressive to look at. There had been a dignity, an elegance around Nyssa in her red dress and heels, dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Her beauty, sensual, sexy, desirable, had moved Sara. There had been something stately about her, graceful, even in the way she held the stem of her wineglass. Even her hands were graceful. Sara remembers imagining those graceful hands running through her skin and flushing at the thought. She'd walked the halls of Star's City Gallery like she was strutting down a runway, self-assured, confident, relaxed. In a past life, a different reality, Sara thinks Nyssa would have been a supermodel. That Nyssa would look at her like she was the only one she desired in a roomful of people had unnerved Sara, flattered her, fascinated her.

And that night at least, she is surprised that their meeting is nothing short of extraordinary, unexpected. That night at least, she had liked to think that they had shared a look and communicated a shared desire to know each other. By the end of the night she had known definitely that she admired Nyssa's face, her body, her voice, the half-smile she had on her face, the rise of an eyebrow as some man tried to impress Sara, that stance she had, that power she exuded as she cooly regarded Sara, daring Sara not to be charmed by her.

Later that same night, when Nyssa is kissing her in her apartment, there is an emotion that slowly creeps up from Sara's gut, climbs up her belly, then on up to her chest and into her heart. She could not describe it then.

She cannot describe it still.

Sometimes she feels something tighten around her heart. Feels herself grow tight inside.

At times she thinks she will go crazy.

At times she thinks she can't stand it.

She doesn't know until when she can keep this up.

The tightness in her chest stays with her long after Nyssa has fallen asleep and is holding her tight.

* * *

><p>It is the constant buzz of her cellphone that wakes Nyssa up from a confusing dream of dead bodies, blood, obsidian knives, birds, gunshots and the faces of Powers, Steele, Stanzler and Sara.<p>

It is already morning, and Sara has already left, with a note by the bedside table, explaining that she has to get up early for work at the Glades and that she'll call Nyssa later. Nyssa sighs, turns and grabs her phone. She glances at it barely to see that it is Barry and answers it.

"Raatko," she mumbles. "This better be good, Allen."

"Um, yeah, morning, sorry to wake you up but this seemed very important and I needed to get to you before you get to the office."

From the seriousness in his voice, Nyssa senses that there is something important he needs to say. She sits up on the bed and says, "What is it?"

"Well, remember that strand of blond hair I found on the vic's clothes? Steven Powers' clothes?"

"Yes?" she says, the dread crawling up on her even as she says it.

"Well, I needed to tell you this before Detective Lance finds out, I didn't want anyone else to know before you got the info," Barry says. "I figured maybe you could handle it, take care of it or something."

"Whose is it?" Nyssa asks impatiently. When Barry hesitates, Nyssa says, "Well, out with it then. Don't keep me in suspense. I'm all pins and needles..."

"It's...Detective Lance's daughter...not the lawyer...the other one..." Barry pauses, letting Nyssa take this in. Nyssa already knows before he speaks who he is referring to.

"It's...Sara Lance..."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Special thanks to kickangel and zarathustra46 as well.**_


	4. Chapter 4

Sara Lance sits across FBI Agent Oliver Queen, her face unexpressive, tone unchanging as Queen asks her questions.

"How do you know Steven Powers?"

"He volunteered for the youth community center at the Glades."

"Where were you on the night Steven Powers died?"

"I was at work first...then I went home. I was with somebody else..."

"Do you have people who will verify that?"

"Yes."

"We found a hair sample on the vic's clothes that matches your DNA. Care to explain that?"

"I don't know..." Sara answers between gritted teeth, a hint of irritation and exhaustion in her voice.

"Powers exhibited blunt force trauma wounds to the head. He'd been knocked unconscious, tortured, drowned, then driven back to his house, his body dumped on the property, shot to the head. Care to enlighten us about this?"

"I don't _know_..." Sara repeats. "Look, I didn't kill him, okay?"

Nyssa stands behind the two-way mirror, outside the interrogation room, watching Agent Queen question Sara.

Detective Lance stands beside Nyssa, looking agitated and impatient, watching the procedure behind the glass. Nyssa wishes she'd been able to get to Sara in time, or even call her and talk to her, and warn Lance as well, but she didn't even have the time. By the time she arrived at the precinct, Queen was already there, in an interrogation room with Sara. Diggle was nowhere to be found.

Nyssa hasn't spoken since she found out that the FBI had already picked Sara Lance up for questioning – although judging from how Agent Queen is asking her questions, it would seem that they're already looking at her as a suspect. How could Sara, _her_ Sara, possibly be mixed up in all this? It isn't possible, she thinks. She believes they should stick to whatever they've investigated so far, Sara's DNA on Steven Powers be damned. There is enough material on the case to rule Sara out, but she is aware that she's probably looking at this from the perspective of someone who's been intimate with the person being currently questioned so she knows she may not be as objective as she wants to be, so she had allowed Queen to ask the questions, even though all she can think of is punching the man in the face.

As she watches Sara behind the window, she mentally goes through what they have so far on Steven Powers, Walter Steele, Queen Consolidated, even Moira Dearden and the Queen's Gambit. There are stories of how Queen Consolidated has struggled since the death of Robert Queen, and how Walter Steele has slowly brought it back to life, but barely. There are articles about Walter Steele and Moira Dearden in the society pages, appearing at charity fundraisers, making appearances at orphanages, soup kitchens and the like. There are articles of the Mendez Cartel, the trials, the small picture of Steven Powers as Sebastian Blood that Felicity had sent her. She still hasn't figured out the numbers, or the mark on Steven Powers' body and why Cisco had been beaten up for it. Nothing adds up. The addition of Sara Lance certainly makes things odd. Even random. Like someone or something, a bigger force, seems to be playing with them, with the investigation. Making them run around in circles, chasing leads that go nowhere, obfuscating the real motives even further. She then stops, thinks about. It almost feels like the murder scene was staged, in an elaborate scheme to...what exactly? She normally does not like to speculate, she feels like it is a waste of time, but in this case, she might have to get creative to figure this puzzle out.

She'd tried to call Cisco, to make sure he is alright, but she hadn't been able to get through to the hospital, and with Sara being questioned right now and everything else going on she doubts if she can even visit the young man in the hospital.

She puts her hand to her forehead, feels her head ache, feels dizzy, closes her eyes for a few seconds, counts to ten, takes a long, slow, deep breath, before she opens her eyes and looks again at the two-way mirror, at Sara Lance and FBI Agent Oliver Queen.

"You okay?" Quentin asks, concern on his face.

"Yes, thanks," Nyssa says, looking at the mirror.

As they watch, Quentin folds his arms in front of him, tapping his shoes against the floor.

"I don't like this, I don't like this at all," Quentin mutters under his breath. He turns to Nyssa then. "This is ridiculous, you know that, right?" Quentin is incredulous. "My daughter couldn't have done it. This doesn't make _sense_."

"No, it doesn't," Nyssa agrees. "And yes, I believe your daughter had nothing to do with it. I'm sure of it. But clearly someone seems to be after her, or else she wouldn't be dragged into it like this. You know of anyone who may have cause to harm your daughter in any way? Someone your daughter may have inadvertently displeased?"

Quentin starts to shake his head, says, "No, no, Sara has always been likeable. Everyone liked Sara. She..." But then his voice trails off and he stops in the middle of the floor, thinking about it. "Except for this one time, back in college, I think it was. Her oldest sister had been missing for a while then. Sara had gotten involved in some kind of group in campus. Like Green Peace, or something like that. Activists. They'd go around do protests and things. I told Sara nothing good would come out of that. That she should stay away from them. I thought she'd listened to me. But that was years ago...that wouldn't have any connection to this now, would it? And why Powers? It's all stupid."

"Normally I would think the same thing, but I'm learning we shouldn't dismiss these little things as ludicrous," Nyssa comments. "Do you remember the name of the organization?"

Quentin shrugs, tries to recall it and Nyssa notes down the name.

"Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this," Nyssa assures him.

Meanwhile, Queen grabs a folder from the table, pretends to flip through it, before he tells Sara, "I was looking at your files and we know you are more than capable of inflicting the kind of damage Powers suffered. You're a trained martial artist aren't you?"

From behind the window, Quentin speaks up, not turning to Nyssa as he does so. "This is nonsense. I had them take self-defense classes when they were growing up. Sara earned her black belt by the time she hit high school. I'm a cop, you see things out there. I wanted them to be able to defend themselves."

When Sara doesn't answer the question, Queen states, "You were gone for a considerable amount of time, Ms. Lance. Care to elaborate on that? Where _have_ you been the past five or so years?"

Sara raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware I'm now required to account for my absence the past five years to explain where I was the night Powers died. I'm pretty sure I don't have to answer that."

"Well, you refuse to answer where you were the night Powers died, so I'm pretty sure I can ask that question instead. In fact, I think you have more than enough motive to kill Powers. Didn't your sister, Dinah Lance, disappear years ago?"

Nyssa watches Quentin's expression on the glass grow cold at the mention of his late daughter.

Queen continues. "And wasn't it suspected that Dinah Lance had been involved in some drug-related...issues? And that she'd gone missing, and was never heard of again? Maybe you thought Powers would lead you to her killers...maybe you even suspected the Mendez Cartel of being involved...maybe you had some kind of personal vendetta against drug cartels..." Queen shrugs. "Either way, you thought maybe Powers had it coming."

Sara is quiet for a deathly few seconds. She knits her eyebrows, narrows her eyes, looks at Queen and in a voice full of controlled anger, says, "I _know_ I don't have to answer that."

"I'm sorry, you might have to try harder than that to convince me you had nothing to do with the crime," Queen says evenly.

Nyssa feels her own anger boiling beneath the surface. Nyssa crosses her arms in front of her. "I thought we suspected the Mendez Cartel of getting back at its witnesses? Are we implying now that she's some kind of vigilante traveling all around the country to kill people who collaborated with the government to put the Mendez Cartel big shots away? That seems a bit farfetched wouldn't you say?Because that would mean unlimited resources. There is also no possible way she could have done all that without gaining some enemies. This is a waste of time."

Quentin grits his teeth. "Morons."

Queen ignores what Sara has just said. "I'll ask again, Ms. Lance and this time you'd better answer the question. Where were you on the night Steven Powers died?"

Sara looks back at him, face resolute. "You are way out of line, Agent Queen."

"Answer the question."

Sara takes a deep breath then and says, in all exasperation, "And if I were you, I'd watch what you say about the dead. Show a little respect."

"There is DNA evidence that establishes your presence at the time of Powers' death, Ms. Lance."

"I did not kill Steven Powers, Agent Queen." Sara looks unperturbed and calm as she says this. "I had nothing to do with that man's death. I'm sorry he's dead, but I was nowhere near or around him when he died."

"Legally I can keep you here for 72 hours until you're ready to start talking. Or are you protecting someone? Do you know who killed him? Is that why you're not talking?"

"I want my lawyer, Agent Queen..."

The sound of footsteps make both Nyssa and Lance turn to see Agent John Diggle approaching them. Diggle nods at both of them before he motions for Nyssa to come with him.

"Did my own investigation, asked some eye witnesses, reviewed initial CCTV footage at the Glades community center where Lance works and Powers volunteered," Diggle starts by way of introduction, voice low, concern on his face. "You were in some of those CCTV footage, Detective Raatko. Care to elaborate on that?"

At first, Nyssa doesn't speak, considering the merits of continuing to keep her relationship with Sara a secret as opposed to revealing it and thus clearing Sara of all suspicion of Powers' death – an idiotic suspicion in the first place anyway. She also could not let Sara and Detective Lance go through what Agent Queen is currently putting Sara through. She takes a deep breath. "Sara was with me, the night Powers died."

She waits for this to sink in. Diggle nods, thinks about it for a second before he says, "Why didn't you tell us this before now to save us the trouble of having to pick Sara Lance up for questioning and earning the ire of her father, your partner, Detective Lance?" Then he stops, and asks, "When you say with you...do you mean with _with?_ You two are...?"

"Yes," Nyssa confirms. "She was with me. She was at my place. She was at home, we had dinner, she stayed the night."

Diggle nods. "So does that mean you can vouch for her the night Powers died?"

Nyssa nods. "And a few other people. There are photos as well, with time stamps on them. And some other evidence that will establish where she was the night Powers died."

Diggle nods again, taking this in. After a silence, he speaks up. "Sara's father going to kill you if he found out you guys are dating?"

Nyssa looks at him, surprised.

Diggle gives her a slight smile. "You seem pretty sweet on her."

"And here we were trying to be discreet."

Diggle just shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm guessing Lance is a bit protective of his girls since he'd lost one daughter and the other's a recovering addict and since Sara's the youngest daughter..." He stops, giving Nyssa an understanding smile. He looks towards the interrogation room. "I'll talk to Queen."

"Thanks, Diggle."

"Don't mention it," Diggle says. "We did say we'd help you as much as we can. For what it's worth, I don't think Sara Lance did it either. The evidence would suggest a person with more considerable strength to have hit Powers, drowned him and killed him. Also, even if she has her own thing what with a dead sibling to avenge and all, I think she doesn't fit the profile. Seems a bit of a do-gooder to me. Plus, this seems more and more like the work of at least two or more people – no way could Sara have done it on her own. " Before he turns and leaves, he tells Nyssa, "But please don't withhold crucial information like that from us ever again."

"Agent Diggle!" a voice from behind interrupts them.

They both turn to see Barry Allen with a pretty young woman approaching them.

"Agent Diggle, Captain looking for you? Something to do with a guy named Mr. Leonov?" Barry leans over then and whispers, "It's kind of a matter of national security, I think."

Diggle nods and excuses himself. "Alright. Gotta talk to Queen then Mr. Leonov."

As Diggle leaves, Barry introduces the woman beside him to Nyssa. "Detective, this is Iris West, Iris, this is Detective Nyssa Raatko." Barry smiles as Nyssa nods and shakes the hand Iris offers to her. "Iris is a blogger..."

"Journalist," Iris corrects him with a roll of her eyes.

"Journalist," Barry concedes, "With CT dot com, or as I like to call it, Conspiracy Theory dot com..."

Iris shakes her head in amusement and smiles apologetically at Nyssa. "It's Central Times dot com, actually. Barry just hates it that I don't share his love for science gone mad..."

It is Barry's turn to roll his eyes. "It's not like that...It's that I can't believe you're writing an article that's so anti-science it's..."

"I'm writing an investigative article on out-of-control science, I'm not anti-science at all," Iris interrupts him. "I'm writing an article on genetic pollution, geo engineering, the dangers of genetically modified organisms, biological weapons, autonomous robot soldiers, drones..." she starts to explain to Nyssa.

Barry turns to Nyssa. "Which she thinks will bring about the apocalypse."

Iris rolls her eyes at Barry. "That's not what I said. And hello? Agent Orange? DDT? The atom bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Illegal experiments on prisoners, the homeless and black people? Corporate science and pharmaceutical companies gone amok and the FDA powerless to stop them? Lead and mercury in our vaccines?"

"Iris, you're describing some Orwellian, sci-fi scenario that's never going to happen..."

"Whatever. We'll just have to agree to disagree," Iris says, shaking her head with a smile as if she thinks Barry is both adorably clueless and impossible. She turns to Nyssa then. "I'm actually tracking down a guy named Stanzler? He was in Central a few weeks ago...he had interesting ideas about secret government-sponsored genetic experiments gone awry. But he disappeared...Got a tip he was spotted here in Star a few days ago. Know him?" she asks Nyssa. She takes out a small picture of the man and shows it to Nyssa.

Nyssa looks at the picture, then calmly responds to Iris. "No."

Iris looks disappointed. "Damn. I was hoping you guys could help."

Barry shrugs. "Told you. That guy probably doesn't exist. Or his name doesn't exist. Probably one of those conspiracy nutjobs who smoked too much pot or something..."

Iris is about to say something else, but Nyssa says, "Sorry, can I talk to Barry in private?"

Iris nods as Barry follows Nyssa to a quiet corner.

"Something's going on. Something I can't quite put my finger to. I feel like someone's playing with us, just leading us around in a wild goose chase," Nyssa says.

"What do you mean?"

"I do not know. But do me a favor and check your computers will you?" Nyssa says.

"Funny you mention that," Barry comments. "There is actually a bug going around, we're trying to fix our computers even as we speak."

Nyssa nods.

"Oh, and Walter Steele's been arrested by the way," Barry informs her. "Fraud and some other stuff."

Nyssa thinks about this. "Interesting."

"What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Powers discovered his fraudulent practices and threatened to report him but Steele opted instead to silence him. He probably found out about Powers' past and his connections with the cartel and had him murdered and made it look like a hit." She stops, thinking about all this for a moment, before she says, "Can you give me a copy of all the files we have thus far on the Powers' case? Including the DNA tests? And a tissue sample of Powers?"

"What do you have in mind?"

Nyssa shrugs. "I feel like we're missing something somehow. Something crucial. It feels like it's just right in front of us, under our nose, all this time. I can't quite put my finger on it. But maybe I'll get an idea when I go over everything again."

Barry nods.

They see both Harper and McKenzie in complete anti-riot gear, and a few other police officers in the same gear.

"What's going on?" Nyssa asks, watching them.

Barry glances at them then back at the room. "Captain sending them out for crowd control over at City Hall. With the summit happening, and Walter Steele's arrest, and Queen Consolidated having to let some people go, there's bound to be some trouble."

They fall silent as they watch their colleagues laugh and chat as they put their gear on.

"I've got to go," Barry says. "Babysit my friend and do some paperwork and research and stuff."

Nyssa smirks. "Friend? Where'd you meet Ms. West anyway?"

Barry blushes. "Her dad and my dad go way back."

"She hasn't discovered how devastatingly charming you are, has she?" Nyssa says with a smile. When Barry's blush deepens, Nyssa only shakes her head. "Alright, go on then."

As Nyssa watches Barry leave with his friend, all she can think of is the fact that the picture Iris West showed her, is not the picture of the Isaac Stanzler she's met recently.

* * *

><p>Nyssa goes back to her desk, feeling restless and uneasy, keeping one eye on the hallway, hoping to see Sara come out of the interrogation room. Detective Lance is still outside the said room, probably waiting for Sara. But then she sees Detective Lance talk to an officer and head to the Captain's office.<p>

Minutes later, she sees Diggle, then Queen and then Sara come out of the room.

Sara's face is still expressionless, although it bears that exhaustion that only an FBI Agent questioning you for what seems like the longest time, could engender. She looks around, as if trying to see if she could talk to someone, and Nyssa stands up, moves to the doorway, so Sara can see her. Sara spots her at about the same time Nyssa does and Sara nods. Agent Queen talks to Sara, hands her his calling card. Queen's face is unreadable from this distance and Nyssa guesses it's either an apology or a warning not to leave the city just yet. Either way, Sara just nods, as if not really caring about what Agent Queen is saying before she puts her leather coat on and leaves. Diggle looks apologetic.

Agent Queen and Diggle meet another person, who, judging from the fact that Nyssa doesn't recognize her, is probably another FBI agent as well.

Nyssa waits for what she thinks is a reasonable number of minutes, before she grabs her jacket and follows Sara out in the parking lot.

* * *

><p>Nyssa finds Sara waiting for her by her car, leaning against the hood, the car discreetly parked a few cars down the street. There is a slight breeze blowing playing with Sara's blond hair. She runs a hand on her hair and smiles when she sees Nyssa and Nyssa has to stop a moment to appreciate how pretty Sara looks in the light of the muted autumn sun.<p>

"Are you okay?"

Sara nods. "As okay as can be, given the circumstances. You?"

Nyssa sighs. "I'm fine."

"What's going on? Why were they asking me about Powers?"

Nyssa shakes her head. "I don't know..."

"Because I didn't kill him," Sara continues. "I mean, why would I kill him? That's just...insane..."

"But they found that hair of yours on his clothes..."

"I don't know why it got there. You don't think I..." She hesitates, looks into Nyssa's eyes, before she completes what she is saying, "...Did it, do you?"

Nyssa doesn't know why but as she gazes into Sara's eyes,there is a certainty that she feels about Sara as she shakes her head. She matches Sara's gaze with her own. "No, of course not."

"I mean, you know where I was, Nyssa. We were together. I was at your apartment. We were supposed to have dinner...but you got that call and..." Sara shrugs. "You can ask anyone at the Glades. I was there the whole time. I remember because we had a meeting that day because Steven Powers had called us up to tell us we weren't getting that grant after all..."

Then Sara stops, still holding her gaze. "You think I was having some kind of...affair with him?"

Nyssa stops, surprised at this. She hadn't even thought of that. "What? No. _No. _And you're not..."

"God, no."

"And you wouldn't..."

"Never," Sara quickly replies with a smile before she leans over and tucks a strand of Nyssa's hair behind her ear. "You know I didn't do it."

"I know that."

"Plus there's that whole alibi thing I have where I spent the whole night with you." There is a smile on Sara's face as she says this and a twinkle in her eye.

Nyssa tries not to blush at how suggestive Sara's tone is. "Yes. But that also means anytime soon your father will have to find out that you and I are together."

Sara sighs. "Actually, after today, I just want it over and done with really. I don't think it'll all be that bad. Although this isn't how I would have imagined him finding out."

Nyssa smiles, reaches for Sara's hand then, thumb gently rubbing the back of Sara's hand. "I'm sorry."

Sara smiles back, twines her fingers with Nyssa's. "For what?"

"For being dragged into this."

"It's fine."

"I mean, I could have told them you were innocent and all that, but Queen..."

"Had other ideas," Sara finishes. "I get it. He was just doing his job."

"Yes, but it's puzzling how your hair would be on the body like that," Nyssa says.

"I know. It's crazy," Sara says.

"Almost feels like it's been planted..."

"Or staged..." Sara offers.

Nyssa thinks this over before she says, "You know I would never let anything happen to you, right?"

Sara smiles back. "I know."

"And about your dad..."

"It's fine. It's like, ripping out a bandage or something." She takes a deep breath. "We are so going on vacation after all this," Sara mutters.

"And where, pray tell, would we go?"

Sara grins. "Corto Maltese. Where else?"

They are still talking when they hear someone give them an approving wolf whistle and Nyssa turns her head and sees Jansen in his black anti-riot gear suit, helmet, goggles, shield, baton, guns holstered and ready, giving her a thumb's up sign with one gloved hand. Nyssa lets her hand go.

"Yo, Raatko! Who's the hot girl?" he calls out.

Nyssa glares at Jansen. Jansen rushes away to the parking lot before Nyssa can corner him and punch him.

"Sorry about that," Nyssa mutters.

Sara shakes her head. "It's fine." When Nyssa nods, Sara says, "So I can go now, right? Like, I didn't do anything wrong and that creepy FBI Agent won't suddenly arrest me?"

"Yes. You're clear, so I don't think we're in serious trouble."

"We?"

Nyssa gives her a one-sided smile. "Darling, if you're in trouble, chances are, I'm in trouble, too."

"Fair point."

They stand there, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, just looking at each other. Nyssa wants the moment to stretch on forever, but there is a murder to solve, and an assignment for Michaels to do, so she says, "I have to go."

Sara nods, clears her throat, reluctantly tears her gaze away from Nyssa to look at her watch and then at the car. "Okay. Have to get back to work anyway. They'll be wondering where I am right about now."

As Sara unlocks her car, Nyssa touches her arm. When Sara turns, Nyssa hesitates before she says, "I'll call you?"

Nyssa nods. "Alright. I'll see you later."

"Okay," Sara says. She opens her mouth and is about to say something else, but then she stops, looks confused, and says it again.

"Okay."

Sara gets into her car and drives away, leaving Nyssa wondering as to what Sara had meant to say as she watches the car turn a corner.

* * *

><p>When Nyssa gets back into the precinct, Felicity sees her and says, "Oh, thank god, you're here. We've been looking all over for you..."<p>

"What?"

"There's a guy, in there, in the interrogation room, Russian, says he knows who killed Steven Powers," Felicity explains.

"Name?"

Felicity shakes her head. "Leonov something? Says he wants to talk to you. Says he's got information about a possible terrorist attack sometime in the week here, at Star City..."

Nyssa nods. Before she turns and heads to the interrogation room, Felicity stops her. She turns and looks at Felicity, a question in her eyes. But Felicity is already pushing something in the palm of her hand. At first Nyssa wonders what it is, but Felicity explains, in a low voice, "It's that thing that you asked Barry for? It's all in there."

As Felicity leaves, Nyssa glances at her hand and finds that it is a flash drive and small canister, both wrapped in plastic. She discreetly puts it on the inside of her jacket and goes to the interrogation room. Once in the hallway leading to the room, she sees Queen, Diggle and Lance standing outside it, waiting for her.

"Where've you been?" Diggle asks. "Guy turned himself in, wants to confess or something. Wants to talk to you."

"Alright."

Queen speaks up. "We've set up equipment in this room, so we can check whatever he's saying. You ready?"

Nyssa nods.

"Alright, let's do this."

* * *

><p>The man looks ordinary.<p>

The man looks to be in his fifties or sixties, thinning gray hair, lines all over his face, faded blue eyes, dark circles under them. He is thin and there is an air of complete and utter exhaustion all around him. He is wearing a rumpled coat, an equally rumpled suit, leather shoes that look old and worn but clean. The man doesn't say anything as Nyssa enters and takes a seat across from him, the table between them.

Without preamble, the man introduces himself in Russian. "Hello, comrade. My name is Leonov. I have cancer."

Nyssa looks at him sternly and answers in English. "I am sorry to hear that. But please speak English. We have people listening."

Leonov smiles, but Nyssa notes how the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. The eyes are cold, seemingly incapable of mirth.

"Now, why do you want to talk to me? Surely it has nothing to do with your cancer. Although I'm sure my associates will be more than happy to give you compensation for your...trouble," Nyssa says.

The man just looks at her, studies her. Nyssa matches his gaze, her eyes cold and shrewd. After a few seconds, the man breaks eye contact and discreetly glances at Nyssa's hands. Leonov gestures at them.

"I see you are not married, comrade."

Nyssa finds herself increasingly growing irked at Leonov addressing her as his comrade, but decides to let it slide.

"But you are...involved with someone, I think?" Leonov states, tone certain.

Nyssa doesn't say anything for a second. "I do not think that is any of your business, Mr. Leonov. I'd much rather we discuss why you want to talk to me..."

"Ah, but in your line of work...isn't it dangerous being involved with someone?" Leonov continues, as if not hearing her.

Nyssa ignores what he has just said. "What do you have for me?" She asks curtly.

The smile disappears. "What I have, comrade, is a story."

Nyssa looks coldly at him, feeling impatient. "I don't like stories. I'd much rather you tell me if you have any information on Steven Powers' murder."

"I think you will like this story."

Nyssa leans back on the chair. "I'm sure I will not, but go on. Out with it."

Leonov leans forward, looks Nyssa in the eye and begins.

* * *

><p>The young man stares at his computer screen, which at the moment, is displaying a complete three-dimensional topographical map of Star City. The man standing behind him gives him orders, a set of instructions, and he nods, barely saying a word, face concentrating on the screen as it reveals streets, houses, restaurants, buildings. He clicks on his, taps on his keyboard, and the map zooms into a particular area, a particular street, then a particular block, then a particular building. The man says something to him again, and he types something and dots of people appear on the screen.<p>

"Alright, we're in."

"Good. Activate them," the man orders him.

The young man nods, hunches over his keyboard and concentrates as he types up a few commands. A satellite image appears on the top right corner of the screen. There is a command prompt on the satellite image. He clicks on that. Then he turns to the building, types something on his keyboard, and on the screen, three red dots appear and start to glow.

The young man leans back in satisfaction and announces, "They're activated."

Even though he cannot see his boss, he knows the man behind him is smiling. "Excellent."

* * *

><p>"As I told you, comrade, my name is Vladimir Alexei Leonov. I am a spy. A Russian spy to be exact," Leonov begins, with a brief smile on his face, as if amused by what he has just revealed. "I have dedicated my whole life to serving Mother Russia. I believed in its cause and what it stood for – its ideals of a world free of western imperialism and America's capitalist empire. But as you can see, I have cancer, my body grows weak, I shall not be long for this world." Leonov pauses, watches Nyssa for any reaction, but Nyssa only sits there, listening, looking skeptical. "Our life's goal has always been to see the Western capitalist pigs destroyed, but time and time again we were defeated. Our efforts always failed. We knew the only way to defeat America is if we had the perfect soldier. This became our dream, our life's goal. A Russian master spy came up with an idea, a plan – to train children into soldiers, train them in warfare, espionage, combat, weapons, raise them in American culture, teach them English, then ship them off into the United States, plant them in American families, until they are activated and called into service for their country."<p>

"Sleeper agents?" Nyssa asks calmly, face expressionless, feeling her heart start to pound hard against her chest. There's a pain in her chest, in her forehead, an ache that stings her and suddenly disappears.

Leonov doesn't answer, but instead continues. "Our plan has come to its natural conclusion, the triumph of Mother Russia. The long wait is over. The leaders of the world are all gathering here for the World Economic Summit. During this time, a Russian agent will assassinate the Russian president."

Nyssa turns to the two-way mirror, certain that Queen and Diggle are hearing this, before she turns back to Leonov, a small smile on her face. "So Russia's plan is to kill the Russian president to get back at...what...the Western imperialist swine?"

"The Russian president has lost sight of what it means to be Russian, to be who we are, what we are fighting for," Leonov explains patiently, condescendingly.

"And what, killing him would mean...?"

"A new president, one who will fight for the people and their rights."

Nyssa thinks about this for a moment before she says, "Forgive my ignorance Mr. Leonov, but...your country has an even higher income inequality than all the western countries combined. How would a new president actually change anything?" She then leans forward then and says, "More importantly, how is Steven Powers' death connected to this?"

"His death was nothing more than a diversion," Leonov responds.

Nyssa takes a deep breath then. She nods. "Alright. I have heard enough. I've got somewhere else to go to, Mr. Leonov. My associate, Agent Queen, will talk to you shortly. Maybe you'll be more...forthcoming with him."

As she gets up and heads for the door, Leonov stops her with a word. "Raatko."

Nyssa stops, her hand almost at the doorknob. She doesn't say anything.

"Nyssa Raatko," Leonov says. "That is the name of the agent."

Nyssa pauses, heart pounding so wildly now it takes an effort to control herself. "My name is Nyssa Raatko," she says calmly, voice betraying no emotion.

Leonov turns and looks straight at her. "Then you are the agent who will kill the Russian president." Before Nyssa can say anything else, Leonov says, "You have a lover, no? A pity. I imagine a lover will prove to be too much of a distraction for someone such as yourself, comrade."

Nyssa grows cold then.

Sara. Sara is in danger.

* * *

><p>Nyssa can feel her heart starting to pound against her chest as Leonov looks at her steadily, not breaking eye contact. She is the first to break eye contact though as she grabs the doorknob, opens the door, steps out and slams it behind her.<p>

Diggle and Queen are waiting for her outside the door.

"Where are you going?" Queen asks her.

"I have to see Sara Lance." Nyssa ignores Queen and talks to Diggle instead. "I have to make a phone call," Nyssa says as she takes her phone out of her pocket. "I need to call Sara."

"Sara? Sara Lance?" Queen looks at her. "Why?"

"Didn't you hear what Leonov said in there? If what he's saying is true, Sara is in danger," Nyssa replies testily.

"Why would you talk to..." Queen begins, but then he stops. "Oh."

As she begins to dial Sara's number, Queen folds his arms in front of him. "Speaker phone, Raatko."

Nyssa glowers at Queen, but she presses the speakerphone anyway. Sara's phone rings, before it goes straight to voicemail and Nyssa hears Sara's recorded message asking the caller to leave a message. She says, "Sara, where are you? Please call me, alright? As soon as you get this message, call me."

When she finishes the call, she turns and starts to walk away, but then Queen says, "Whoa, Raatko, where do you think you're going?"

Nyssa stops and turns to answer. "I'm going to find Detective Lance, talk to him..."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Detective," Queen says, after a silence.

Nyssa raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Let's just say, you're not going anywhere at the moment."

Nyssa looks at Queen, then at Diggle and scowls. "Why the hell not?"

Queen clears his throat. "A man just accused you of having plans for a terrorist attack. During an economic summit where all the world leaders have gathered. "

There is a silence that follows this statement.

"This is absurd. I have no plans of killing the Russian president. I have nothing to gain by killing him. And if I were a Russian spy, which I can assure you I am not, it seems even more absurd that I'd be activated so I can kill the Russian president. That does not make sense. I am an American citizen. I am _not_ a terrorist," Nyssa says then.

"You're not just a detective, too, are you, Detective Raatko?" Queen responds evenly.

Nyssa glares at him.

"Did you really think you could just walk out of here after what Leonov said in there?" Queen asks her.

Diggle speaks up. "Wait. Let's pump the brakes on this for a sec. We're not sure whatever Leonov is saying is true. You know we get a lot of these calls about terrorist attacks. A lot of of them turn out to be made up." He turns to Nyssa then. "We were monitoring him when he was talking to you back there, but we need to make sure, so we'll let him go through a lie detector test."

"What if he passes that?" Nyssa asks. "If he's the master spy he claims he is, then he would be trained to pass lie detector tests..."

"FBI tech has developed a state-of-the-art test that's at least much more accurate than your average store-bought lie detector test," Diggle assures her.

Nyssa looks at him skeptically.

"Unfortunately you would have to take the test, too," Diggle adds.

"What? Why?"

"I'm sorry. If what he says is true, we need to rule out potential suspects before we proceed," Diggle explains.

Queen just looks at her then, eyes glittering with barely concealed triumph. "As I said, Detective Raatko, you're not going anywhere."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Thanks to kickangel and Lady Fountainhead for help with this chap.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Nyssa sits inside the interrogation room alone.

She'd been sitting inside the room since Queen and Diggle had finished asking her questions about her background, her ties to Russia, whether she knew Leonov, or knew any of his associates or of a top secret Russian spy organization deep which trained children to be sleeper agents and whether she knew about an impending terrorist attack or not and where, in Star City it would be. All the while, a lie detector device had been attached to her arm, an FBI tech in the other room in front of a computer going over her heart rate and brain wave activity to determine the truthfulness of her statements.

"I'm not a terrorist, Agent," Nyssa had reiterated to both Queen and Diggle at the end of the interrogation.

"Let us be the judge of that," Queen had told her.

And then another round of questioning would begin again, with the same questions just asked in different ways, Queen's tone increasingly more menacing and agitated. _Where were you on the night Steven Powers died? What do you know of the impending terrorist attacks in Star City? Do you know when the terrorist attack will happen? Have you ever been or are you a member of a terrorist organization intent on attacking Star City or any other American city? _But aside from these questions, Queen had started asking her other questions, too. She is questioned on such things as her martial arts skills (that they know of, she thinks), her impressive knowledge of esoteric facts and trivia that a normal detective wouldn't know, her linguistic skills ("I just have a high I.Q., what of it?" she replies snarkily), her mysterious past before coming to Star City.

She knows these are preposterous and does not waste time pointing it out to an unperturbed Queen.

However, she can already guess that the FBI has already contacted the intelligence community about her supposed involvement, her name included in the daily threat assessment dossier given to the president, that even as she sits there, his plans of coming to Star City, his plans of making an appearance in the conference changed so as to avoid the danger. She knows the other world leaders have been informed on the situation and that each one would have made the necessary precautions. Security at the summit, at Star Pavilion, would have been tightened, additional security personnel and police officers added to protect them.

She puts her hand on her forehead, rubs it, feeling impatient and restless in this room.

She'd watched Agent Queen and Diggle had a furious disagreement earlier, in the hallway, in front of her, Diggle skeptical about Leonov and his motives for implicating Nyssa in an imminent terrorist attack, whilst Queen was adamant that they interrogate and detain Nyssa for purposes of national security – citing anti-terrorist laws that clearly support whatever decisions they make and methods they use to prevent an attack.

"You don't know that Raatko is a terrorist!" Diggle had angrily argued. "For all we know this guy's just some lying old dick who's just pulling our leg!"

"We do whatever it takes to protect this country," Queen insists, voice calm and low as he tries to reason with Diggle.

"What, and we're just going to take the word of some old Russian guy with cancer we'd only met now?"

"Yes."

For what seems like hours later, she looks at the window, and gets up, wondering what's going on. There are no signs of Queen, Diggle or even Detective Lance.

It is Sara she most worries about right now. Diggle has assured her they will check on her whereabouts without alarming her father, but Diggle either has conveniently forgotten about it or deems Sara's safety not a concern since he has not indicated that Sara is in fact alright. Where is Sara now? What is she doing? Has Leonov or his men reached her? Taken her? Nyssa's heart beats wildly against her chest. She'd promised Sara she wouldn't let anything happen to her. And yet here she is, stuck in this room, failing Sara on her promise. If Leonov does something, anything to her...Nyssa closes her eyes, takes a long, deep breath, feels that familiar emptiness open slowly within her again, feels the rage fill that emptiness. She sees Sara's face, Sara's smile, blond hair, fair skin. Her eyes fly open. She closes her fists, feels her nails dig into the palm of her hand. If something happens to Sara, somebody will pay. And will pay dearly.

Finally, Agent Queen comes back. He studies her briefly, before, with what she can only assume is some difficulty at an admission of defeat, he says, "We've discussed Leonov and the veracity of his claims, as well as your possible involvement in it. We've gone through the lie detector test results, your heart rate and brain wave activities, your background profiles, conferred with our associates, superiors and anti-terrorist analysts, and though I find it strange that prior to your appearance here in Star City we've got nothing – we can't necessarily bring you in on charges of...being secretive and possibly dangerous..."

Nyssa just looks at him, not breaking eye contact.

"Good," Nyssa says, as she stands up.

"But, just to make sure, we're transferring you to our detention center in Central..."

"What?"

"Just until the summit ends. We've informed the president of a possible terrorist attack. Our security experts have advised him not to proceed to Star for the summit, but he seems hell-bent on coming, so you'll have to come with us..."

Nyssa sits there, eyeing Queen, assessing the situation. She could take Queen. Queen is more than six feet tall, and at Nyssa's five foot eight, he definitely has the advantage, not to mention the strength and muscle, but Rezsch had once taught her that one can turn another's strength, turn it into his weakness and make them suffer for it. Queen may have the advantage physically, but as with most people aware of their advantages, Queen would not expect a surprise offensive attack from Nyssa. He may have been FBI-trained, but she had been training as well for as long as she can remember. She could just as easily disarm the man, render him unconscious, take him hostage and escape this precinct alive and find out who is behind this. But though it is late afternoon now – the precinct will still be full of officers, _armed_ officers, assorted criminals arrested for various crimes ranging from pickpocketing to drunk driving, to drug possession and drug dealing, to assault, prostitution and murder, plus other people – visitors, perhaps even children. Civilians. Possible casualties, that can be dismissed as unfortunate collateral damage. Expendable, and perhaps necessary in their mission to prevent bigger, more catastrophic events from ever happening, But Rezsch had also told her to think, to plan, to strategize, to limit casualties whenever possible, and when, as in this case where the odds seem to be stacked against her favor, to take a step back, bide her time until a better opportunity presents itself.

So she just looks at Queen, smirks and puts her wrists together on the table, inviting Queen to handcuff her.

Queen's gaze does not flicker as he says, "No need. Don't want to raise the alarm – or freak the civilian population out. Plus we don't really want to attract attention now do we?" Queen gives her a humorous smile.

Nyssa nods.

They walk out of the precinct with Queen and Diggle giving the captain and Lance a flimsy excuse involving needing Nyssa's assistance and expertise in their investigation of Leonov's claims.

They put her in the back of a black sedan with Diggle and Queen in front.

* * *

><p>Pale afternoon sunlight illuminates the city as Diggle drives away from the precinct. The air is quick and clean, the day windy, the traffic heavier than usual.<p>

Nobody speaks inside the car. The silence is palpable. Diggle casually turns on the news on the car radio. Nyssa looks out the window as she listens to the news. There are the typical things – a coup d'etat somewhere on the other side of the world. A civil war. A hurricane. Some celebrity doing charity work. The requisite news about the royal family. Some entertainment news. Elsewhere, in the Middle East, a militant group calling themselves the Brotherhood is calling for a _jihad_ against America, its perpetual enemy. Nyssa takes note of that, although until they call her to fly to the Middle East she doesn't think she has to pay close attention to it. Diggle changes channels. Nyssa listens. And then she hears something that makes her sit up straighter and listen closer: Walter Steele arrested for allegations of fraud on the eve of an important business partnership with Wayne Enterprises. The reporter says Steele denies the allegations and that there will be an investigation, but the man is facing an indictment and prison if the allegations are proven to be true. There are interviews – with his ex-wife Moira Dearden, who stands by Walter Steele and maintains his innocence, the mayor, who expresses his sadness at the arrest but gives the safe answer that he will not give further comment until the investigation is finished and Malcolm Merlyn, who is also a member of the Chamber of Commerce, expressing his deep regret at Walter Steele's arrest and the baseless allegations and that he will support Steele every step of the way. Queen Consolidated's stocks plunge as the news of his arrest hit the stands, the reporter continues. How interesting that the man who suspected Powers committing less than savory deeds, is the one being arrested for fraud instead, she thinks. She thinks about its connections to Powers' murder, but then remembers that Leonov claims that was just a diversion for the terrorist attack and her spirits deflate considerably. It feels a bit like going back to square one and the uncertainty continues to make her anxious.

The car rolls to a stop again at another intersection.

She notes that they are now passing by the public Star City Square, from the massive fountain in the middle of a square surrounded by cedar, maple, birch and pine, fronting a garden and a park, opposite of which, just across the road, stood the Star City Hall, from where she can see protesters gathering with their placards, streamers, chants and megaphones. She notes that the crowd is bigger than it was the day before, that there are more coming. There is an air of discontent, anger gathering in the crowd, and when she glimpses one placard condemning Steele's fraudulent acts as acts against decency and morality, she knows that that is part of it. As part of Star's one percenters, Steele has proven yet again why the rest of humanity despise the rich. She notes that there are police officers in anti-riot gear gathered casually by the perimeters of City Hall. No doubt there to keep the peace, she all look alike, but she knows Jansen and Harper are there somehow.

As the lights change, Diggle changes gears, accelerates, passes by City Hall and its protesters, shiny skyscrapers, restaurants, shops, malls, banks, a series of buildings that are a testament to the wealth of the city and its citizens.

Diggle makes a turn, and Nyssa notes that there is lighter traffic here, that this isn't usually the road taken going to Central, but Diggle must have decided to avoid the heavy traffic, take a few shortcuts and detours.

That is when the other car slams against the sedan and throws it by the side of the road.

* * *

><p>Sara gets the call on her way to the Glades. After the call is authenticated, she receives the order.<p>

"Subject's been activated," the voice informs her.

"My orders?"

"Target's considered armed and dangerous," the voice continues. "We want the subject brought back alive. But do whatever it takes to make sure subject's mission is not accomplished, including use of deadly force."

"Alright."

"And if that does not work...termination."

"Understood."

"Sending you updated visual of subject now."

"Same subject?" she asks, wanting to clarify whether Nyssa is off that list now.

But the call has already ended and an uploaded image of the target sent.

She almost crashes her car when she sees the image. She stops the car on the side of the road, stares at the image.

Her assignment has not changed.

Her orders still stand.

Her heart starts to beat fast.

She feels like crying.

* * *

><p>At first Nyssa doesn't know where she is.<p>

She hears a ringing in her ears, a deep throbbing pain on the side of her head, pain all over her body. There is something slick and wet against the side of her head. She tastes blood in her mouth, knows she is injured. She tries to move, feels pain shooting up her body. She tries to move her head instead. She realizes the car has rammed against a rail, has slipped half into a ditch, lying on its side. Queen and Diggle are unconscious, still buckled in their seatbelts. She can smell gasoline. She can see small flames and smoke from the hood of the car.

She feels exhausted, and she lies there in a crumpled, injured heap in the back of the car, feeling like the world is moving in slow motion.

She closes her eyes, wants the pain to go away.

But then she hears the creak of the car door in front. Her eyes fly open and she sees hands grab Diggle and drag him out of the car. She squints her eyes, try to see amidst the blood and flames and smoke and the gathering darkness, and sees a familiar face go around the car to the smashed windshield, reach inside for Queen and unbuckle the unconscious man and pull him out of the car as well. Stanzler. Isaac Stanzler. Or whatever the hell his name is. Diggle and Queen are bigger and taller than Stanzler, she notes but he had carried them like they were nothing. She curses under her breath and staggers and struggles inside the backseat. She scrambles to the left side of the car. But she cannot seem to open it. She feels weak, feels her hands trembling. _Get a grip, _Raatko, she tells herself. She takes a deep breath, and tries to push the car door out. It seems to be stuck. She glances around, surveys the car for possible exit points. The flames and smoke on the hood of the car seem to have grown bigger. She tries not to panic, concentrates on a breathing pattern Rezsch had once taught her. Fear is nothing, Rezsch had told her more than once and this is the mantra that she tells herself as she tries to push the car door again.

Suddenly Stanzler's face appears. "Hey!" he shouts into the car. "Get back!"

She moves away and closes her eyes as Stanzler slams his fists against the window, smashing the glass, fragments flying. She opens her eyes then to see him grabbing the door and wrenching it open.

"Can you move?" Stanzler asks.

"Yes, I think so," Nyssa replies as she moves to the window again.

Even so, Stanzler reaches inside and lifts her out of the car and onto the pavement. She can see Queen and Diggle still unconscious by the other side of the road, away from the flaming car.

"We've got to move," Stanzler informs her as he leads her away from the sedan and into the waiting car parked a few yards away from the crashed car. "Are you injured? Are you alright?"

"I think so," Nyssa replies.

"You've got a nasty cut on your head, but I guess you'll live."

When Nyssa sees the crashed hood, she realizes it was Stanzler who had rammed his car against the sedan.

Stanzler seems to have read her mind, because he says, "Sorry about that. But had to get you out." When he sees that Nyssa is about to ask questions, Stanzler says, "I'll explain later."

"Sara, we've got to get to Sara..." Nyssa manages to say as she gets into the car and Stanzler expertly drives away from the accident. "But we've got to go to my place first...have to check something..."

Stanzler nods. "Alright."

They are silent until they are clear of the accident and then Nyssa gives him her address.

"That ought to buy us some time for you to get home, then go to her and escape to Central City," Stanzler says as he glances at the rearview mirror. He gives Nyssa a side long glance. "We don't have much time."

Nyssa glances a few times in the back, worried Queen and Diggle have somehow regained consciousness and are following them. No signs of pursuit, she thinks, good.

"Relax, they won't be following anytime soon," Stanzler reassures her. "They're fine. But gave them enough tranquilizers that we can drive to Central City and back if we want to."

"How much did you give them?"

"Enough for a couple of horses."

"Queen's not going to like that." Nyssa winces at the pain. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry about that. But it was the only thing I could think of to get you out of there..."

"Start talking."

"I'm...I'm not sure where to start. I'm not sure even about everything...the details are pretty hazy...but...there was a project..."

"A project." Nyssa's tone is flat, her face skeptical as she looks at Stanzler. "You've got to be more specific than that."

"It was a research program...involving soldiers...it goes way, way back..."

"What was the research about?"

"Dunno...I...I'd just come from Iraq, was kind of drifting. Couldn't get a job, couldn't get anything...Couldn't adjust stateside...Some PTSD bullshit, really, so my shrink says," Stanzler explains, voice becoming increasingly fast and frenzied, agitated. "I'd seen some things there...done some things that I wish I hadn't...brought me nightmares, woke up screaming some nights...sometimes it got so bad the only thing I could think of to end it was putting a bullet through my head...War screws you up, you know? But there was this lady, see? Told me, what if they could help me? What if they could make the pain go away? What if they could give me a job?"

"Who was this lady? Who was she working for?"

"I...I can't remember." Stanzler hesitates, looking even more agitated, as if something as simple a detail as this should be something he should remember. "I didn't care at first. I did my job. I got paid. But...I don't know. They must have done something to my brain. They tried to explain it to me in there...It was a lot of scientific mumbo-jumbo...I couldn't really understand it."

"What happened?"

"I got better...or at least I thought I got better. The nightmares stopped. I woke up feeling better. Felt lighter on my feet..."

"What did they do to you?"

"I don't know...There was a computer. Doctors...I remember a seat. Wires. Injections. And pills. I had to take pills...The pills are supposed to make me smarter or something, I don't know..."

"Do you remember what they were for?"

"No...I've stopped, you see. Stopped taking them. Something bad happens when you take too much of it. Or if you stop.." He stops then, as if thinking of something, before he asks, "Hey, do you still have those headaches? Dizziness?"

Nyssa shrugs. "Sometimes."

"How frequent? What are the intervals?"

"I don't know. Once in a while. Not too frequent that it makes me want to go to the hospital for a brain scan or something," Nyssa explains. "What does this all have to do with me anyway? Or the case?"

"I dunno...but I do know you're supposed to be something special..." Stanzler stops. "Look, have you ever thought, just for once, that maybe you're different? That you've always been different from other people?"

Nyssa shrugs. "No more than other people do I suppose."

Stanzler waves a hand away impatiently as if Nyssa's answer is insufficient. "C'mon, man, you guys are supposed to be smarter. We're like the cheaper imitation. The pills couldn't do what you guys already _are_."

"There are others like me?" Nyssa inquires.

"Yes, I'm not sure. Maybe. I don't know. Something with how you were _raised_ I guess. You're supposed to be smarter. Stronger. Faster."

"That's just preposterous." Nyssa realizes she's mentioned that word and its synonyms more than she can count today, but at the same time, there's a growing uneasiness within her as she thinks about what Stanzler is saying. It feels a bit like she's been walking around blindfolded in a dark room in the middle of nowhere with nothing or no one to help her. And yet as Stanzler continues with her story, she feels as if that blindfold is about to be removed, that light in the room about to be switched on and there's a truth there that she feels she is not ready to deal with. Not ready to face with.

"Look, I know they did something so you're smarter than most. You've probably got the IQ of a genius or something" When Nyssa doesn't answer, Stanzler continues, "Shit, I bet you're good at a lot of languages or something. And math. And other stuff. I know you're skilled in hand-to-hand combat, skilled in martial arts. You were _raised _for all were _bred_ for this."

"What are you talking about? You make it sound like I'm some kind of cattle bred for slaughter or something. That's just ridiculous."

"You don't believe me?"

"It's not that I don't believe you, it's that I can't believe you. It's absurd."

"Yeah, it's absurd." Then Stanzler looks at Nyssa then. " 'Til it isn't."

"I work to keep the country _safe_. I'm a law-abiding American citizen who..."

"Are you really?"

"What?"

"American?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I mean, who are you _really_? _What_ are you?"

Nyssa stops, unable to answer this. She takes a deep, slow breath to help her control her heart from beating wildly in her chest. Keep calm, she tells herself.

"That's what they _want_ you to think...having you spout all that patriotic bullshit, when you've probably been trained with only one thing in their minds: _kill_..."

"I've never killed anyone. I would _never_ kill anyone. Not in cold blood anyway." She stops, wanting not to believe what Stanzler is saying, but having that creepy sensation in her gut that's telling her that there might at least be a modicum of truth in it. "Wait. You think I killed Powers? While, what, I was under hypnosis or something? Because I find that highly unlikely."

"How would you know? How do you know they didn't do anything to make you forget?"

"This is too fantastic to be believable."

"Believe me, at first I thought the same thing, too."

"Is that what you are,too? You're like me?"

Stanzler shakes his head. "No. At least, I...I don't think so. I can't remember...How about you? You can't remember most of your past do you? Do you even remember having a childhood? An adolescence? Do you remember being like other kids? Playing games? Doing normal things? Having fun? Do you have the kind of memories we do?"

Nyssa is about to answer this when she stops. "I don't see how that's relevant," she finally states haughtily.

"You don't remember, do you?" Stanzler says. "See, they scrambled your brain, too."

As Nyssa sits there silently, Stanzler explains, "Something went wrong...I don't know what it was...but something went wrong..."

"What?"

As Nyssa looks into his eyes, Stanzler says, "You can't fight these people, man. When you do, you pay the price...with your life."

"Stanzler, what do you know of a Leonov?" Nyssa asks him then, remembering the man who'd accused her of being a terrorist.

Stanzler shakes his head. "Never heard of him."

They are now in downtown, and there's heavier traffic, more people. Nyssa somehow feels comforted by that. They hear a car screech a few yards away, a gunshot, shouts, voices. They both turn at the sound.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Nyssa demands then. "Your name isn't even Stanzler is it?"

Stanzler does not deny it. "No, it's not. I'm sorry."

"Who's Stanzler?"

"Some guy whose identity I took," Stanzler says. He turns when he sees the suspicion in Nyssa's eyes. "No, I didn't kill him, okay?" When the skepticism is still there, Stanzler says, "Look, I know this person. Caitlin Snow? Over at Central City. Kind of a really brilliant scientist. She might be able to help you." He grabs a piece of paper on which is scrawled the woman's number. "You might see Cisco there, too."

"How do you know Cisco?" she asks.

Stanzler shrugs. "Knew he got into trouble helping you out. Went to the hospital to check on him. Saw some goon trying to kill him in his sleep. Took him outta there. Asked me to take him to Central, to his friend, Caitlin Snow."

Nyssa sighs, relieved Cisco is alright.

"Anyway, see, you know what the problem is?" Stanzler asks now. He doesn't wait for Nyssa to reply and instead supplies the answer. "They don't really know what you're capable of. Not really. Maybe you don't even know what you're capable of, too. And that's what they're afraid of. And that's why they won't hesitate to put you down. And that's why you're in danger."

Stanzler continues, "Oh, and that lady...the lady you were asking me about? I don't remember her name...It's like some household name...The Door? The Gatekeeper? The Post? I forgot...it was something like that. But your father, he was...I don't know..._shaytaan_...I don't know exactly what that means...I guess _'beast'_? And you had some kind of name, too...I forgot what it was...but you were like...the heir or something..._His_ heir."

* * *

><p>Stanzler gets her to her apartment with a reminder from Stanzler that she should get cleaned up – at least get the blood of her face, grab a change of clothes.<p>

Nyssa nods and rushes in, intent on grabbing a few clothes and her _katana_ and _kaiken_. But then she stops, realizing something is different about her apartment. Her emergency black backpack is lying outside her cabinet, the_ katana _and _kaiken_ lying beside it. She grabs her pack and the katana and kaiken. She goes to her kitchen cupboard, pulls something out of a box she keeps under the kitchen sink, a device she keeps just for this emergencies and puts it against the door, attaching a wire to the front door knob and attaching the other end to the device. Anyone who tries to get into her apartment will be on for a surprise.

She finds Stanzler nervous and jittery when she goes down into the parking garage, where Stanzler is waiting for her.

"What's up?" Stanzler asks.

"We need to go, _now_," Nyssa says as she gets in and slams the car door behind her.

Stanzler doesn't need to be asked twice. He quickly starts the engine and drives out of the garage and away from the apartment.

* * *

><p>Dusk had fallen.<p>

As Stanzler drives through the city on their way to the Glades, she takes note, for the nth time, how vast Star City is, compared to London, and yet so small as well. She thinks perhaps this is because Star City is younger than London, London ancient and beautiful and well-preserved, a city with a long history, and an even longer memory.

She remembers seeing St. Paul's, Westminster, Big Ben, St. George's Circus, Fleet Street, Blackfriars Bridge, Trafalgar Square, Liverpool Street with Rezsch, remembers bridges, streets, elegant houses and old brick buildings and the tube. She remembers the English countryside, the sunlight glittering off the beaches, sand and grass beneath her toes. It was always for reconnoitering though, she recalls. That is what she remembers the most. There was no time for games, Rezsch had explained, when Nyssa had complained about it the one and only time she did, when she saw other kids at a playground. Everything was an opportunity to learn, he said, always reminding Nyssa to be mindful of her surroundings, to observe people, to notice how they looked, their features, their mannerisms, the way they dressed, the way they spoke, the way their eyes looked. They would sometimes go all the way to East End, and all the way there, on the subway, or walking down the high street, he would motion towards a homeless man and he'd ask her, as if it were a game, "That man, why was he homeless? What do you see?" or he'd discreetly point to a boy in uniform rushing down the street and ask her, "That boy, he's limping, he's poorly dressed...do you think somebody beat him?" or indicating a middle-aged disheveled woman pushing a cart, he'd tell her, "That woman – she has a scar on her cheek – how did she come by it? Did somebody try to kill her? Did she come by it through an accident? Was she born disfigured?" He would bring her to libraries and museums and galleries, to study history and literature, sculptures, cultures, art. There were things even he could not teach her, and their excursions to these places would complement what he was teaching her. Nyssa had taken a liking to the British Museum. She'd liked going to the different rooms, the Assyrian Room, the Greek and Roman Galleries, the Egyptian Rooms – she liked looking up at the cold white statues, at the obelisks, pharaohs, sarcophagi, stone gods, gigantic bulls, Venuses and Minervas.

And Rezsch had looked her in the eye then and told her, if they didn't do this, they would be captured, and then they would be hurt and they could die. Rezsch took care of her. Rezsch always made sure she was safe.

The memories come to her then, like a flood, broken abruptly by Stanzler screeching to a halt and the car following behind her has to stop as well. Nyssa glares at Stanzler. Stanzler mutters an apology. The driver curses, and drives away. Stanzler ignores him. These were clear memories, she thinks. She had thought of London as an idea, a memory, not as a reality.

She wishes she had the comfort of memory, but she finds she cannot trust even her memories now. There is so much now. So much that's changing. Her world is changing. Falling apart. She doesn't even know who she is anymore. Or _what_ she is. She hadn't given much thought to them, but Stanzler had planted the first seeds of doubt, and now the father she thinks had died in an accident, may have been murdered. She still isn't clear about who or what she is supposed to be. _Fear nothing_, Rezsch had told her over and over again, but in this brave new world where she isn't who she thought she was, where everything _isn't _what it all seems, where her origins, so comfortable in the fact of her relationship with Rezsch, had been put into question and in the harsh light of truth, has been smashed into smithereens. It couldn't be true, could it? She couldn't have been _raised _just for this specific job? That seems to be what Stanzler is saying. Because then that would mean that all she had learned, all she ever was, all she is now, all she ever will be, are all parts of one elaborate lie, a lie that was supposed to make her into what she is now, and she doesn't like the idea that she has been used, manipulated for this. No, it's impossible. She can't believe someone would plan something as diabolical as all that. Because if that were the case, then it would put her whole life in question. Who is she really? What is she really? She thinks again about the word carved onto Steven Powers' skin. The same word that Stanzler mentions to her. _Shaytaan._ There was that word again. Beast? No, it's the wrong translation, she thinks.

The car slows to a stop at an intersection.

No, it's not _beast_, she realizes. She'd made an error on the translation. The word was _demon_. And then it comes to her. _Al-warith ash-shar'iy. _Heir. The _legitimate heir_. She swallows. The_ oni_, the _yokai_, those meant _demon_ in Japanese, too. And Rezsch kept talking about her being _sōzokujin no eigo, _the heir. Heart pounding, she wonders, is she the heir to the demon? If so, what did that mean? What does it mean for her now? Did she have something to do with the murder of Steven Powers? Could she have been responsible for it? But why doesn't she remember? Is she some kind of sleeper agent? Is she some kind of..._assassin_? A government-trained one? She swallows. The answers are too terrifying to contemplate.

She has the sense of some huge earthquake, as of the earth moving beneath her, her world slipping before her, and all she can do is slip and slide and grasp at air. She feels as if, whatever is going on, the only to stop it, is to find out who she is, or _what _she is. And the way to find out is to understand where she came from. But where is she even going to start?

Thankfully, the light changes, putting off these thoughts from her head for the time being so she can concentrate on outside.

As the lights change, Stanzler changes gears, accelerates, passes by City Hall and its protesters, shiny skyscrapers, restaurants, shops, malls, banks, a series of buildings that are a testament to the wealth of the city and its citizens. Stanzler takes a few turns, and Nyssa notices how the place starts to change – the buildings slowly being replaced by dilapidated ones, men and women in smartly dressed suits slowly being replaced by shabbier dressed people with greasy hair and tattered clothes and worn shoes, some of them gathered around makeshift fires in drums, hands out to the flames to keep them warm. They stop at an intersection and sees two male teenagers chatting by the sidewalk. She sees one of them smoothly hand over a roll of bills, sees the other deftly take the bills and hand him a pack of what seems to be white powder. Heroin, she thinks. Everywhere she looks, she is reminded of how different the Glades is from downtown. Whereas downtown is a testament to Star's wealth, success and glamor, the Glades reminds her of the failures of the system – for here is where the people who've fallen through the cracks are. Here is the poverty, the squalor, the human condition in all its humiliating glory, for everyone to see or ignore. She'd never much cared for the human condition, or for the economic theories responsible for this, but since she'd met Sara, she finds she is developing a dislike for a system that makes the rich richer, and the poor, poorer. Sara would talk to her about economic theories, the state of the market, the state of Star City, the Glades, how screwed up the system is, for chewing up young men and women and spitting them out into the Glades, about how the system has failed its young people and how it's important that people like Sara do their part to help change that system. "There's just so much strength here, so much wasted talent and imagination and courage and intelligence and leadership and vision. They don't need guilty middle-class do-gooders like me, they just need a chance," Sara would say in one of her rants about the Glades, and though Nyssa frankly wouldn't normally have the energy for such discussions – her life had always been about tactics, strategies, plans, missions and the achieving of it, she finds that with Sara, she can actually take the time to listen and even offer her own opinion, however humble it maybe.

Thinking about Sara reminds her why she is in the Glades, and what she needs to do now.

She makes Stanzler stop by a gas station so she can wash up and change clothes. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she sees a cut on her forehead, easily concealed by her hair, but aside from that, there is nothing else that would indicate that she had been in an accident. Well, nothing that can be seen anyway, since she still feels the effects of the crash on her body. Once she's done, she gets back to the car and in a few minutes Stanzler is parking right beside the community center, a simple two-story brick square building surrounded by a chain-link fence, trees and a few young people hanging out by the steps. Stanzler cuts the engine, and nods to her.

Nyssa takes a deep breath and steps out.

* * *

><p>She finds Sara easily enough after she asks one of the young men, Paco, for directions. At this hour, the center is slowly winding, the lobby, the rooms – a studio, a gym, a music room, a conference room - normally filled to the brim with young people, dancing, singing, exercising, laughing, chatting – virtually empty as she makes her way up the stairs to the second floor. She looks around, notes that there is no sign of Queen, Diggle or the FBI around. The people she meet do not even give her a second glance.<p>

Sara is surprised, when she sees Nyssa standing by the doorway of her office. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

Nyssa smiles back. She feels her spirit rise at the sight of Sara. "I was just in the neighborhood."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I was trying to call you but you wouldn't answer, so..."

Sara raises an eyebrow. "You checking up on me?"

"Sort of."

Sara takes a step forward, sees the wound on the side of her face partially obscured by her hair, the slight bruise on her face. "What happened to you? You're looking a little pale..."

Nyssa shakes her head. "Nothing. We need to go. _Now._"

"What? Why?" Sara cocks her head. "Is something wrong?"

Nyssa looks at her then, realizes how beautiful Sara is, realizes how much she cares for her, realizes she would die without hesitation to protect Sara. She wants to tell her so many things, but the urgency and sense of purpose she feels right now, in wanting to take Sara away from immediate danger is making the words fail her now. She settles with a quick, "I'll explain later. But we've got to move now."

Sara is about to say anything else, but a voice shouts from outside.

"Hey, Sara, someone else's here to see you!" the voice, that of young Paco's, comes from the doorway.

At the same time, they hear another voice, a woman's, much older, brisk and business-like, "Sara, sorry I'm late, got caught up in traffic...I..."

But then the voice stops when the person who owns it comes into the office and finds Nyssa and Sara there.

"Raatko," Laurel Lance says coldly, shrewd eyes narrowing as she looks at the other woman.

"Lance."

"What are you doing here?" Laurel asks skipping the pleasantries altogether.

"I'm here on official police business, what are _you_ doing here?" Nyssa replies.

"She's here to report to me for her community service on that DUI charge she had a few months back," Sara interrupts, giving Nyssa a look that says she should give her sister some slack. "And for dinner...which I have to cancel...something came up..." Sara turns to Laurel apologetically.

Laurel tries not to look disappointed. "That's...fine." She turns to Nyssa then. "You're not here to beat my sister up to a pulp with a coffee cup, are you?" Laurel looks at her suspiciously.

"No, I am not. And I'm pretty sure your sister is more than capable of defending herself."

"Laurel," Sara says, already sounding exasperated at the exchange between the two. "She's here because of that Steven Powers murder case they're investigating. I used to work with him before he died, and she's just here to ask some questions."

Nyssa notes how easily the excuse comes to Sara's lips.

Laurel takes a few steps forward. "Well, obviously you didn't do it, tell her."

Sara smiles. "Of course, I didn't. But she still has to do her job, so, take it easy."

"Well, either way, I'm your lawyer now and whatever you have to ask her, you can ask her with me present," Laurel states now.

Nyssa notes that Laurel has suddenly turned protective towards her younger sister, and for a brief moment she feels a bit of respect for the woman despite her faults.

Sara's smile grows wider as she glances at Nyssa with a brief, sly, meaningful look before turning back to Laurel. "Don't worry. I think I've got it covered."

Laurel is about to say something but she catches the surreptitious look that Sara and Nyssa exchange and she stops, looking from one to the other. Her sister and Raatko are standing inches apart, Nyssa standing by the desk, leaning against it, Sara standing near Laurel, but she could feel something between them, something familiar, something electric almost. She'd been sisters with Sara long enough to figure out from Sara's body language when she liked someone and judging from how she is looking at Nyssa now, eyes glittering with what could only be interpreted as happiness, Laurel realizes something. She looks at Nyssa and she thinks it is mutual as well. She speaks up in the brief silence that follows.

"Oh, my god, are you guys _together_?"

The awkward silence and then the subsequent denial that follows from both confirm her suspicions.

"What?" both Nyssa and Sara react. "No, no, _no_," they both say in varying tones.

"Oh my god, you _so_ are," Laurel says with a triumphant smile on her face. "Is that why you're so confident about your alibi...you..." Then another realization dawns on her. "You were with Raatko the night Powers was murdered. You and Raatko are..." She shudders. " That is _so_ gross. On _so_ many levels."

Laurel turns to Nyssa then. "You and my sister?" Then she turns to Sara. "Raatko? Really, Sara, really?"

Nyssa doesn't speak, she just leans further back, crosses her arms in front of her, and raises an eyebrow at Laurel.

Sara sighs. "Laurel," she says, exasperated.

"Sara, this woman's a raging...psychopath!" Laurel spits out. "She beats people up for _fun_."

Nyssa tries to smirk but she turns to Sara instead and says, "Sara, we need to go..."

Sara says, "She isn't really all that bad once you get to know her..."

"Her idea of police work is breaking the suspect's fingers and forcing them to confess!"

"Laurel, _please_," Sara continues.

"She once broke someone's legs, for crying out loud!" Laurel continues. "She is out of control, Sara!"

"We're dating, get over it!" Sara interrupts her, the irritation creeping up in her voice.

The interruption, coupled with Sara's emotional outburst, surprises Laurel so much it shuts her up, especially since Sara rarely displayed any kind of emotion, not since Dinah died anyway.

There is an awkward silence then which is broken when Laurel says, "I...guess I've got to go..."

"Yeah, us, too," Sara says.

"Yeah, we'll catch you later..."

* * *

><p>As they make their way in the parking lot, Nyssa notes that the parking lot is virtually empty now, except for Sara and Stanzler's cars. They can see Laurel's car's headlights winking in the darkness, the car disappearing into the night. Stanzler is nowhere to be seen. There is an unusual silence in the darkness and night that has settled in the parking lot,save for the sound of their footsteps and the occasional passing car, shouts and their own footsteps. They walk in silence then, Nyssa walking inches in front of Sara.<p>

Nyssa decides to speak up then. "So, it wasn't that bad, was it? Your sister finding out about us?"

She does not hear the sound of footsteps behind her. She realizes Sara has stopped walking. She turns and she sees Sara holding a gun, aimed at her.

"Sara, what are you doing?" Nyssa asks.

Sara is silent at first, but then she levers the safety, her hands and voice steady. "I'm sorry, Nyssa. It's nothing personal. I'm just doing my job..."


	6. Chapter 6

Nyssa and Sara stand opposite each other, unmoving, unable to speak for a few minutes, the tension palpable between them. The darkness grows and deepens.

Sara swallows, her arm unwavering, the pistol in her hand aimed directly at Nyssa's chest. Nyssa just stares at her, incredulous, surprised, looking on in disbelief at the gun pointed at her, then at Sara.

Finally, Nyssa tries to laughs, but she stops, and looks at Sara intently instead. "You're joking, aren't you?"

Sara breaks the silence by saying, "Hands where I can see them, Nyssa..."

Nyssa only smiles. "Alright, you've had your fun..."

"Please, Nyssa...don't make it harder than it already is..."

"Sara, this isn't funny anymore..."

Sara wracks her brain for something to say, before she speaks up. "You have the right to remain silent..."

Nyssa knits her eyebrows. "Are you seriously reading me my rights?"

"Anything you say can and will be used against you..."

"Honestly, Sara, cut it out, it was cute the first few minutes..."

Sara doesn't stop though, the pistol still aimed at her, her voice, her gaze, her arm steady. Nyssa only looks at her. She then realizes that Sara is not joking at all, and that she is, in point of fact, very serious. She briefly toys with disarming Sara, which she knows she can do in under ten seconds, but she is curious to know why Sara is pointing a gun at her, so without taking her eyes off of Sara, she slowly puts her hands behind her head calmly, silently. She pushes down whatever other emotions she is feeling about Sara pointing a gun at her and tries to concentrate on the situation at hand.

Then they both hear a click behind Sara. "Freeze, lady."

Stanzler is directly behind Sara, a pistol aimed at the back of her head. "Put the gun down, lady."

Sara doesn't say anything. She stays rooted to the spot.

"Put the gun down lady, or I _will_ shoot."

For a few seconds, Sara looks indecisive, but determined, then she finally takes the gun away from Nyssa, and with gun in hand, raises her hands in the air in a sign of surrender.

Stanzler quickly grabs the gun from Sara's hand and calmly tells Nyssa, "Sara, I presume?"

Nyssa looks at him with a murderous expression on her face. "It's complicated," she finally says as she lowers her hands and catches the gun Stanzler tosses her way.

Stanzler grins. "Sure it is."

But then, they hear footsteps and clicks and then a voice from behind saying, "Nobody move. Hands in the air."

* * *

><p>"Sir! Sir!" a woman shouts at the man lying on the ground. "Are you alright?"<p>

Queen stirs, blinks, looks disoriented, streaks of blood on the side of his face. He looks up at the woman asking him the question, not sure at first what is going on.

"I saw the accident, the ambulance is here, your friend's being treated..."

Queen springs to attention then, remembering Diggle, Raatko, the car accident. He looks down and realizes he's been lying on the road, on the pavement. He looks up and sees stars sprinkled on the night sky, between the branches of the trees that line up on both sides of the road. He looks around – the road, on any given night, would have been deserted, a long stretch of nothingness, perfect for an ambush. A cold breeze brushes against his face. He runs his hand on his face, feels warm, slick blood, tastes it.

He now sees an ambulance and a couple of police car lights flashing, people - medics he notes - treating Diggle a few yards away while uniformed police officers interview him. They seem to have arrived only recently. He sees a couple more medics heading towards him. He turns and sees a firefighter holding a fire extinguisher, inspecting their upturned car, watching the smoke rising from it.

Before he can protest, a medic is already checking to see his injuries, applying gauze on the wound on his forehead and examining the rest of his body, asking him questions and checking to make sure he has no concussion. Queen answers each one impatiently, trying to free himself from the medic as he tries to make a phonecall.

He waits as the call connects. When the person on the other end of the line answers, he quickly identifies himself.

"What's your status?" the voice asks.

"We've been ambushed sir," he answers.

There is a pause as the man on the other end of the line absorbs this news. "Are you sure?"

"Affirmative," he replies. "An unmarked car slammed into our car on our way to Central."

"Description?"

"Male, African American, tall, about six feet."

"And the subject?"

"Subject's nowhere in sight," Queen says.

Another pause. "So we can safely assume you _lost_ the subject?"

"We can safely assume, sir, that we have been _ambushed_, and our subject _intercepted _before we could detain said subject for further and indefinite interrogation," Queen corrects him.

"Will we be able to recover the subject?"

"Yes. They can't have gotten far," Queen responds. "We're calling local police to enlist their help, put out an APB, set up a road block on all possible exit points, check surveillance cameras. Star City's small, and even if they got as far as Central, there isn't any place there to hide from us."

"Alright. President's on his way to Star for the conference. We'll advise him to cancel his trip. There'll be disgruntled world leaders, but we can't take any chances."

Queen nods. "Alright, sir."

"Call me when you've recovered the subject."

Queen makes another phone call to both the Star and Central police. He gets both CCPD and SCPD's cooperation right away, although Gordon James, Nyssa's boss, is slightly less cooperative and very unhappy with the developments. Only his threat of a federal action convinces James to put out an APB and road blocks on all of Star's exit points.

As he finishes the call, Diggle comes up to him and says, "Is this the part where you tell me, 'I told you so' for insisting Raatko might have been innocent?"

Queen looks at him and shakes his head barely perceptibly. "You couldn't have known. These sleeper agents go deep undercover. They're trained to blend in, to pull off being one of us. Not your fault she was good at her job."

Diggle takes a deep breath. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Queen answers. "Pissed off. But fine." He looks at Diggle then. "Ready for some action?"

Diggle looks at him. "Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

><p>Agent Lyla Michaels sits in one of the park benches, in the dark, waiting for Nyssa Raatko to appear, but it's been an hour and there is no sign of Raatko anywhere.<p>

After a few minutes, she gets up, decides Raatko isn't appearing and is leaving the park when she receives a phone call.

"Michaels," she says by way of answering the phone.

"Mission's been compromised," the voice on the other end of the line says. "Assets suspected of having gone rogue."

"Orders?"

"Find and retrieve assets," the voice replies. "Avoid violence at all costs. But if assets turn hostile and dangerous, you are authorized to use deadly force."

"Copy that."

* * *

><p>Bruce Brennan heads to the Oval Office, iPad in hand, as he nods to the Secret Service agents stationed outside the office and the outer office secretary who buzzes him in. The agent nods and opens the door.<p>

One of his secretaries has handed him the daily threat assessment files compiled from the country's intelligence community, and when he looks at the iPad he sees that it has been marked "urgent". When he goes through the latest threats and realizes that one of them requires his immediate attention, he quickly arranges a meeting with the president and goes to him.

"Ah, Bruce, nice of you to drop by," the president, Morgan Fox, West Point graduate, war hero and popular media savvy statesman, looks up from his leisurely game of makeshift golf he is playing with golf balls and an empty glass lying on its side. He grins at Brennan as he twirls the golf club in his hand. "What's up?"

"Sir, I've just received the newest threat assessments from our boys from the intelligence community..."

"And...?"

"Intel suggests there's an imminent terrorist attack in Star City tomorrow and you are being advised to skip the World Economic Forum to avoid any possible danger to your life."

Morgan Fox props the golf club on the side of his desk, rolls his eyes and plops down on his chair. "There's always some kind of terrorist threat on American soil and my life is always in some kind of danger. It's an occupational hazard, you know that. I knew that when I decided to run for office. You can't be the president of the world's only superpower without getting some enemies in the process. Also, I know of at least a couple of world leaders who will be disappointed to hear I won't be coming after all."

Brennan sighs deeply and resists the urge to throw up his arms. Of all the things he hates about his job, it's the part where he has to argue with Morgan Fox when it comes to possible threats to his life. "Sir, I know we receive threats to your life all the time, but this is one of the more serious threats to your life. I think you should just cancel your trip and make your apologies later."

Morgan Fox is already shaking his head even before Brennan has finished his sentence. "No. I'm not canceling just because your intel boys have yet another imminent terrorist threat that will turn out to be bogus again. I'll be the laughingstock of the conference!"

"Sir..."

"We've been looking forward to this forum for months. We need this. If we back out now, what will our foreign friends think of us? They'll just think we're cowards who get easily bullied by terrorists. And as you know, I don't back down from bullies. I _won't _back down."

"Sir, we've been through this before," Brennan begins. "You can't just keep dismissing intel that warns you that your life is in danger. You can't keep risking your life like this."

Morgan Fox just looks at him. "Alright, fine. How about a compromise? We go to Star and at the very first sign of danger, we leave. No questions asked. That fair?"

Brennan sighs. "I'd rather you cancel your trip altogether, sir. But alright. But when I say we leave, sir, we leave. No questions asked."

Morgan Fox nods. "Fine."

* * *

><p>Nyssa, Sara and Stanzler stand in the middle of the parking lot, with hands on the back of their heads, guns pointed at them.<p>

Nobody speaks for what seems like hours. The silence stretches on to forever. And in that silence, Nyssa's impatience grows, that sense of urgency gnawing at her, urging her to pull at the thread of a rapidly untangling mystery, telling her to follow it wherever it should take her, and yet at the same time, afraid of what she may discover, and what it may mean for her, and the path and choices she will have to make from this day forward. She has a sense of something irrevocable happening that day Steven Powers died, that she can never go back again, even if she wanted to, that for better or worse Steven Powers' death has set her on a course that will reveal to her who she is and what she is meant to do. Buried beneath that impatience and urgency is something else. Something unexpected. An urge to find out the truth, to let this play out and unfold, to let it lead her to its natural conclusion. A calm rushes through her then, the kind of calm that goes through her right before she realizes what she needs to do.

So she grabs the gun behind her, turns, punches the man and kicks him in the solar plexus. Another one comes at her then and she kicks the gun out of his hand and punches him. Stanzler takes it as his cue, turns and punches the man behind him as well. Sara goes for the other one behind him, disarming the man in the space of a few seconds. Nyssa is busy fighting off another man but she sees her do this and files that for something they may have to talk about later. She sees another man about to hit Sara from behind and she shouts, "Sara!"

Sara turns just in time to duck, get out of the way, grab the man and knee him in the groin. She turns back to Nyssa to thank her but sees a man come up behind Nyssa and she shouts, "Nyssa!"

But then, too late, the man comes up from behind Nyssa and covers her mouth with a cloth, the other arm holding her in a vice-like grip. Another man comes up to hold her in place, restraining her. In the midst of the scuffle, she can see a couple of men doing the same to Sara. She wants to go and scream to Sara, but she is starting to feel dizzy, her sight going hazy.

"Nyssa!" Stanzler shouts, himself subdued on the ground, lying on his stomach, with his arms behind him. But before he could say anything else, someone hits him and loses consciousness.

Nyssa kicks the man in front of her in the shin, hears him shout in pain, then she leans forward, grabs the man from behind her by the head and pulling him forward, seeing the man tumble on the concrete pavement with a loud thud, moaning.

The man groans, grabs his head and exclaims, "Damn! This one's strong as an ox!"

As she stands there, feeling triumphant, she stumbles forward, feeling the dizziness overtake her and she drops to her knees and collapses on the pavement herself. As she lies there, fighting to stay conscious and feeling herself lose the battle, she sees Sara collapse as well and a man emerges out of the darkness, followed by a number of armed men.

"Load them into the van," the man orders.

The men half-drag, half-lift both Nyssa and Sara into a waiting van. Then one of the men head towards Stanzler's unconscious body. The leader says, "Leave him. We have no need of him. Let the cops take care of him."

"Sara..." she whispers.

Then darkness.

* * *

><p>Nyssa comes to groggily, in the darkness, her hands tied in front of her, feeling the first signs of an oncoming headache beginning to pound inside her head. She blinks, realizes she's lying on her side, in the back of what appears to be a moving van. She groans, barely audibly, feeling disoriented, moving slowly, feeling sluggish.<p>

"Hey, you're awake," a voice in the darkness, soft and unsure, says.

Then as light from the outside illuminate the darkness inside the van, she sees Sara appear in the darkness.

She sits up, moves back, narrows her eyes and says, voice cold and full of emotion, "Get away from me."

"Nyssa..." Sara says softly.

"Who are you? Who are you working for?"

"I can't...tell you that..."

"Why did you have a gun pointed at me? Why were you reading me my rights?"

"That's...classified."

There is a brief silence, in which Nyssa says, "You lied to me."

Nyssa's voice is so soft, the anger tempered with a layer of accusation, betrayal, anger and sorrow and beneath it, hurt, that Sara feels it like a punch in the gut. Sara knew this day would come, the day when she would have to reveal herself for who she is. Frankly she'd wanted this day to come, so she could get it over with, but she hadn't known how awful it would be, hearing that pain in Nyssa's voice, in her eyes, that sense of betrayal, that sadness.

"I'm sorry, Nyssa," Sara finally says, voice full of regret. "I didn't mean for it to go this far..."

"But it did," Nyssa says, her tone hard and bitter.

"I was just...doing my job...I didn't want to hurt you."

"Yes, keep saying that." Nyssa is sarcastic.

"You don't understand..."

"Do you have any idea what's going on? What you've just _done_?"

Sara studies her then, gaze unwavering. "Do you?"

Nyssa's eyes flash.

Sara is silent, not knowing what else to say.

After a silence, Nyssa speaks. "Was it all a lie then?" Nyssa looks at her then. "Everything you said, what we had? Were you just..._pretending_?"

Sara doesn't know how to answer the question, so she doesn't answer it. Instead, she says, "You're one to talk. You've been lying to me, too."

Nyssa doesn't reply. She turns her head, looking at the square of light in front of them, the driver's head behind glass and screen, and the darkness beyond.

What is there left to say? Nothing.

So she sits there, in the back of the van, not saying anything to Sara.

* * *

><p>Diggle and Queen arrive at the Glades Community Center parking lot amidst police cars, lights flashing blue and red, and a couple of dark sedans, with uniformed and plainclothes police officers standing around, interviewing witnesses.<p>

As Queen approaches the parking lot, he spots one man in a suit interviewing a young man and realizes the man is Detective Quentin Lance, taking notes on a small black pad. He stops a few yards away and tries to eavesdrop on the conversation while Diggle goes off to ask the other police officers some questions.

"...I didn't see nothin', man," the young man is saying. "I just be mindin' my own business, walkin' home, ya know what I'm sayin? And I heard gunshots and shouts and ya know, my first instinct was to run the other way, but then I saw these people, and they be kung-fu fightin' each other's asses, ya know what I'm sayin'? And I be like..."

"Do you _know_ who they are?" Detective Lance cuts him off impatiently, sounding exhausted and slightly irritated. Lance is cranky. It is late and he should be at home, getting much needed sleep, but Star seems to have decided that this would be one of those busy days. "Do you _recognize_ any of them? Were they gang members or mobsters?"

The young man shakes his head and shrugs. "Dunno, man. Too hard to tell in the dark. And like I said, they were doin' a lot of those kung fu fightin' and ass kickin'. It was kind of awesome and scary at the same time."

Detective Lance is nodding his head in disbelieving condescension. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you."

From behind Lance, he hears a female voice and turns and sees Laurel Lance looking confused. "Dad?"

"Oh, hey, Laurel, what's up? What are you doing here?"

"I came earlier to meet with Sara, we were supposed to have dinner but she canceled, so. I was on my way home when I realized I forgot something in her office and..." Laurel explains, then she stops, as if realizing something. "Is...Is Sara in trouble? Is she hurt? I mean...I saw her earlier...and Raatko was with her and...I swear to god if something happens to Sara..."

Lance starts to shake his head. "No, no, I'm sure she's fine. We came because someone reported some kind of disturbance here. Some goons duking it out in the parking lot. We're not sure yet which gang or mob is involved but..." But then he stops and looks at Laurel. "Raatko? What was Raatko doing here? With Sara?"

"Sara?" the young man interrupts them. "You mean, Sara Lance? That hot blond chick who runs the community center? She's one fine piece of..."

"Yeah, and she's also my daughter..." Lance cuts in, glaring at him.

The young man stops. "Oh. Sorry. Yeah, anyway, I saw her being dragged by one of those goons in the back of a van...with some other lady...they were both unconscious and..."

Lance feels his body grow cold at the words.

"I'm really sorry, mister."

* * *

><p>"Mind telling me what's going on here?" Diggle asks Queen then, coming up to him, surveying the parking lot. "Police officers sure don't know."<p>

Queen turns to him. "You tell me."

Diggle shrugs. "Raatko seems to have been in some kind of...scuffle."

"Scuffle." Queen repeats the word like he cannot believe what he is hearing.

Diggle nods. "Yes. People here don't like talking."

"So it's _that_ kind of neighborhood."

Diggle nods again. "Witnesses placed Raatko and another woman – I'm guessing Sara Lance – at the scene though...they seemed to have been fighting off some...assailants...Witnesses seem to think they were drugged and kidnapped..."

"Kidnapped?" Queen asks. "This just keeps getting better and better."

"Yep. And dragged into the back of a van."

"Anyone got the license plates?"

Diggle shakes his head. "No."

"Any word about our mysterious man who crashed into our car?"

"No," Diggle answers. "Witnesses do say they saw another man, tall, black, helping them. But seems to have disappeared when our assailants subdued them."

As Queen looks at him, thoughtful and puzzled, Diggle asks, "Why would someone try to rescue our would-be terrorist sleeper agent only to be kidnapped by another group?"

"I don't know."

"More importantly, what does Sara Lance have to do with all of this?" Diggle wonders.

"I don't know. Did anyone get a good look at their kidnappers?"

"Negative," Diggle answers. "Although somebody did describe them as European sounding. Eastern European to be exact."

"Russian?"

"Possibly. What do you think? Mercenaries?"

"Or ex-KGB," Queen offers.

"This the terrorist attack we were warned about?"

"Yes. The real one."

"We could probably use that guy Leonov's intel on this right about now," Diggle says then, "Had you not decided to release him."

Queen sighs. "We didn't have anything else to go on. There was no other reason to keep him. You know those human rights groups will have our heads on a stick if we kept him back there."

"What was all that shit about keeping them in custody for 72 hours then?" Diggle asks.

Queen shakes his head. "A way to get our intel without resorting to...enhanced interrogation methods. And keep the Senate and Congress off our backs. You know we can't afford anymore bad publicity as it is." He looks off in the distance. "Anyway, Leonov's probably long gone now. Doesn't matter now. We need to stop them before something bad happens. But just in case, we probably should put out an APB on Leonov."

Diggle looks out at the vehicles, flashing blue and red lights, officers, witnesses, curious bystanders standing around in the parking lot and nods. "Agreed."

* * *

><p>Nyssa and Sara ride in silence for the rest of the trip, sitting in the darkness, for what seems like hours.<p>

Where are they going? She wonders. She thinks she cannot take anymore of this.

But then, the van slows to a stop, the driver cuts the engine, gets out of the van, doors are opened and slammed shut, and the van's side door slides open, semiautomatic guns trained on Nyssa and Sara.

"Out," one of the men with a pistol orders them.

Nyssa and Sara do as they are told.

* * *

><p>The tall man comes up behind the young blond man sitting in front of the computer in his office, looks at the images on the computer screen, before he speaks up.<p>

"Status report?"

"Everything's going as planned, sir," the young man replies. "Right on schedule."

"Any problems on the actives?"

The young man shakes his head. "None. Running like clockwork. Tracking GPS right now."

"Everything's set for tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We can't have anything getting in the way of our plans."

* * *

><p>Nyssa realizes, as they get out of the van, that they are by the docks, the van parked by the place where the Queen's Gambit is docked. It is late and she notes that stars are scattered on the night sky, the moon out and full tonight, illuminating everything – the docks, the gravel path, boats by the docks, the city beyond. The cold breeze blowing makes Nyssa shiver as they follow the men to what she now sees <em>is<em> the Queen's Gambit. The armed men in front of her get on the stern of the boat by a plank, followed by Nyssa and Sara and then more armed men. They direct both of them to the bow as someone guns the engine and the Gambit starts to move, slicing through shimmering dark water.

As the Queen's Gambit hums and glides on the water quickly, Nyssa peers out in the darkness, trying to figure out where they are going by the position of the stars. But minutes later, in which the docks seem to have fallen away, leaving them in the middle of the sea, only the lights of Star barely visible behind them, Gambit slows down, then stops by a large ship looming in front of them, outlined against the moonlit sky. They are then led to the much larger ship at gunpoint, getting on board by the stern of the ship, led to the upper deck of the ship, down the stairs, and into a doorway to the lower deck. Nyssa notes that it is too big to be a yacht, but too small to be an oil tanker, or cargo ship or a luxury liner. It is a medium-sized ship, the kind used for transporting shipments or for fishing. By the looks of the ship, steel sidings and beams rusty and old, the ship is about ten or fifteen years old. The lower deck though has been stripped of bunks, tables, shelves, equipment, only the necessary instruments and devices needed to run the ship have been kept, so that the lower deck is now a long, bare room, cold and empty but for a table, a few chairs, an overhead lamp, the door from which they entered, and another exit door on the other side.

A man with his back to them is waiting inside the room, standing in front of a porthole, arms behind him, looking out at the sea and sky and stars.

"We meet again, comrade," the man says, as he turns.

It is Leonov.

* * *

><p>Leonov moves to the small, wooden table in the middle of the room, his footsteps echoing. The table is empty except for a knife, the old overhead bulb flickering above it, making an island of light in the darkness, silhouetting everyone. The men lead Nyssa to Leonov, making her stand in front of him, by the table, surrounding both of them with their guns still trained on her. She notes that they are wearing army fatigues, guns, knives and grenades strapped to them. Mercenaries. Or terrorists. Or both. It is hard to tell in the dark. One of them unties her hands. She watches as Sara is led to the far side of the room, a few yards away, beside the entrance she has seen earlier, creating a rectangle square of light from the moon and stars outside on the floor. She can see Sara's skin lit by the moon, as if from within, a slash of light that makes her look ethereal somehow. The look she sees on Sara's face, is a look she hasn't seen before: pure, unadulterated fear.<p>

It takes Nyssa much effort to take her eyes off Sara when Leonov speaks.

"Welcome, comrade," Leonov says. "Thought you would not make it."

"How could we say no with your men holding us at gunpoint?" Nyssa replies sarcastically.

Leonov just looks at her. Then he nods to a man behind Nyssa, who steps forward, points his gun at Sara.

Then Leonov says, "Well, we didn't want you getting lost on your way to the Amazo now, did we?"

Then the man levers the safety, arm steady as he aims at Sara. Leonov looks at Nyssa, his gaze unwavering, as if daring Nyssa to flinch, to say or do something to stop the man from what he is about to do.

Leonov doesn't speak, studies Nyssa for a while. Then he says, "We are this close to achieving the victory we have worked our whole lives for. Generations of comrades have lain down their lives so we can get to this point. We can now restore Russia to its former glory, remind the world how truly great Russia is, make the world kneel in fear..."

"You are _insane_..."

"No more insane than most people," Leonov replies, with a sinister smile on his face. "The end justifies the means...and all that." Leonov turns to the man then and nods.

Finally, Nyssa asks, voice steady and low, "What are you doing?"

"You are important to the cause, comrade," Leonov replies, a small smile on his face. "We must eliminate all distractions if you are to achieve your goals for Mother Russia."

Then, before Nyssa could say anything else, the man with the gun pulls the trigger and shoots Sara.


	7. Chapter 7

The action takes less than a second.

Nyssa feels like it's all in slow motion.

Before Nyssa knows it, Sara's body jerks back as the bullet slams into her. Then she falls forward on her knees and drops to her side on the floor with a thud.

Nyssa stands there, frozen, not knowing what to do or say. Leonov only watches her, waiting for her reaction. He would have waited for a long time. Nyssa's face is expressionless but deep inside, she feels something shrivel up and die. She feels that emptiness grow bigger. She sees herself standing at the edge of the precipice, feels like Sara's death the last piece that finally pushes her to the edge. He killed Sara. He killed the woman Nyssa loves. Nyssa had promised to protect Sara and she had failed her and now Sara is lying dead on the floor of the ship.

She feels that sadness, that emptiness well up inside her.

Leonov speaks, but it feels as if from a distance as Nyssa stands there, not speaking.

There are so many words, so many things she would have wanted to tell her, so many unspoken things between then. Sara had known her for months now, and yet, she had _not _known her. The detached part of her, the part she keeps to herself had always been kept apart from Sara. She knows it made Sara unhappy sometimes knowing Nyssa is so closed up. But words evade her. Words have _always_ evaded her. Lately though, Nyssa's heart has begun that fretful pounding she'd experienced of late in Sara's presence. Every time Nyssa sees her, she feels this pain at the sight of her that she cannot explain. It perplexes her, not knowing what these feelings are. Now she knows she is in pain because of her and she understands that she would continue in this pain unless she does something about it. It seems to her that every corner of Nyssa's soul had opened because of this, because of Sara. Nyssa wants to imagine a future with her. Nyssa had began to love her, to love more than just her beauty and grace, had felt like their hearts shared a dream, felt a great certainty about her. In this way her love deepened, her love went deep and meant life itself. She loved her more than anything in the world. She couldn't stand another moment without explaining her heart to her. A knot of pressure had grown inside her to declare her feelings for her. Nyssa doesn't know why she had waited so long until it was too late. Sara had kept the truth of her identity from her, yes, but so did Nyssa and now that opportunity to make things right, to at least have everything out in the open, and perhaps explore what a life without secrets would be like for them, is lost forever. She knows Sara felt at least a modicum of that for her. She is certain she has seen that spark in Sara's eyes whenever she sees Nyssa, because it is the same spark that flares in her eyes as well at the very thought of Sara. Now that spark is gone and she is left with ugly truths and unspoken wishes and regrets and the memory of a woman she so dearly loves.

She feels the tears threaten to well up in her eyes, but she has been trained to control her emotions and she succeeds in pushing it down, deep inside her. What takes its place though, is the suppressed rage she has been trying to control all this time. This suppressed rage that comes from feeling that all this time, people have been lying to her, people have been manipulating her. Events are spiraling out of control, forces conspiring to drive her insane, its currents pulling her deeper and deeper into truths that she does not feel she is ready to face or fight.

"You killed her." She says it flatly, simply, as a statement.

Leonov shrugs casually. "Like I said, no distractions." He smirks.

* * *

><p>It is the smirk that does it for Nyssa.<p>

The smirk had looked callous, insensitive, victorious.

It is the smirk that makes Nyssa punch Leonov in the throat, grab the knife on the table with one hand, his wrist in the other and stab his hand into the table. As Leonov screams, she grabs Leonov's gun from his waistband, gets behind the man, uses him as a human shield as she methodically and coldly shoots everyone in the room attempting to shoot her. She grabs two semiautomatics from the man she'd shot and shoots the second wave of men who attempt to shoot her. By the time she is done, all the men in the room are lying on the floor, bleeding and injured, groaning and moaning. She turns to Leonov then, shoots the man on the leg. He screams. She throws the guns on the floor, steps up to him and with one hand twists the knife in Leonov's hand and with the other pulls his hand behind him, jerking his body back.

"When and where is the Russian president being killed?"

"I don't know, comrade."

Nyssa twists the knife harder. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. "I'll ask again, and this time I hope you'd be more..." Here she stops, wraps her arm around the man in a chokehold and says, "Forthcoming."

Leonov gasps, starts to choke.

Nyssa tightens her arm around him. "Start talking."

Leonov shakes his head slightly.

The rage comes through Nyssa in waves. She releases Leonov and punches him, making his head snap back. She punches him again and again and again, until the face is nothing but a bloody pulp. Each time she does so, she asks Leonov again, but the man only laughs, or approximates a laugh halfway between a wheeze and a cough between broken teeth and bloody lips, enraging Nyssa even more. As she punches him over and over again, all she can think of is, he killed Sara. It is a thought that goes through her mind like a mantra.

In the end, in her frustration, she takes the knife out and punches him so hard his body slams against the floor in a heap.

"You are better than we thought," Leonov manages to say, weakly as he watches Nyssa grab two grenades and a gun from a man on the floor. "Better than we imagined. All our hopes and dreams _realized_."

As Nyssa walks away, grenades and a gun with her, she says, "You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?" Leonov shouts at her, weakly.

As she stops in front of Sara, she kneels down, looking at her. Sara looks peaceful, like she is sleeping. She looks beautiful. She leans over her and even though she knows Sara might be dead, she places two fingers on Sara's neck, hoping against all hope that Sara might still be alive.

Her heart stops then.

She could feel a pulse, weak, barely there, but still. They hadn't meant to kill her. Of course. They'd have wanted to keep her alive as long as possible to keep Nyssa in line, to control her. Sara is leverage. The bullet wound had missed major arteries, but the force of the impact had knocked her unconscious.

She feels her spirit rise, feels her heart start to pound.

She turns to Leonov then. "...Shoot Sara."

Leonov laughs derisively, maniacally. "What? Her? She is nothing. Just a silly little girl. She is not one of us."

Nyssa looks at Sara then, and feels a steely resolve form within her. "Yes, she might be..." She stops, finds herself saying softly, "But she's _my_ girl."

She takes aim at Leonov then and shoots him mid-laugh, his body jerking back and then sagging as he dies.

She quickly picks Sara up, puts her arm around her and with one final look at the damage she's done to the room, she takes the pins out of the grenades, tosses them as far as her arms can throw them in the room and quickly heads for the door with Sara in tow.

She gets to the side of the ship, hauls Sara, then herself over the railing. As they jump off the deck and into open water, the ship explodes into a big ball of orange fire.


	8. Chapter 8

She hears the explosion roar in her ears, feels the force of it propelling them away from the ship and into the water.

She feels Nyssa's arms around her, shielding her from the worst of the impact of hitting the water and debris.

The ice cold water slices through Sara's consciousness like a knife.

Earlier, between eyelids that can barely stay open, she had seen Nyssa's terrifying power unleashed. She had seen her rage released, seen what she could do, what she was capable of, as she stabbed Leonov's hand into the table, as she shot each man within range as if she was picking off flies, each man dropping to the floor dead or dying or wounded, and as she interrogated Leonov, not having any qualms inflicting pain as the man screamed again and again. Nyssa had calmly dispensed with every armed man with cold efficiency, with an economy of movement that is alarming. She was thoroughly competent and elegantly so. There was a deliberated controlled rage within Nyssa that she had let loose that night on those men and it was a rage born of her grief for thinking she had lost Sara.

The man had shot Sara, but the bullet seems to have missed any major organs, or arteries. Or it has and she is just slowly bleeding to death lying on her side in a ship with what her office suspects is a sleeper agent. She had been told that Nyssa is dangerous, but until tonight, she hadn't known just how dangerous. She had closed her eyes then, feeling herself grow weak.

She hears footsteps, senses, rather than sees Nyssa, feels her fingers on Sara's throat, hears a gunshot and a whispered statement. "...She's _my _girl."

Sara could smile if she already weren't too weak with blood loss.

Nyssa had saved her. Nyssa had kept her promise. If before now, she had wondered if Nyssa cared for her, tonight had erased all doubts.

And as Nyssa half-carries, half-drags her out of the ship and into the water, safe from the exploding ship, a slow realization comes to her.

* * *

><p>She feels herself and Nyssa sink deeper and deeper into the water.<p>

In the measureless darkness she knows she should probably move, should probably grab Nyssa by the arm and swim up to the surface. Nyssa herself isn't moving and she realizes Nyssa has probably been hit by the debris from the ship or worse. She should move, she should fight that grim battle, that exertion to stay alive, fighting against sliding into consciousness, against those concluding paroxysms in the clutches of death, heart and brain stopping, but her body feels like lead, she feels boneless, exhausted, and she feels herself slide out of consciousness.

* * *

><p><em>That night she first sees Nyssa, Sara stands against the wall of her apartment while Nyssa runs her hands up her dress and caresses her with smooth fingers.<em>

_She holds Nyssa's face between her hands and looks at her. It is a breathtaking face and at the same time mysterious. _

_Nyssa begins to kiss her throat so that Sara throws her head back to make room for her. Nyssa breathes in her perfume and she moves her lips over her collarbones and then down to the space between her breasts. She lets her. _

_Sara strokes the top of her head and feels the sensation of lips against her skin._

* * *

><p><em>Sara remembers that Nyssa stops, presses her hands against the wall behind Sara so that her muscled arms passes on either side of Sara's head. She looks at Sara closely, with an intimacy and seriousness and desire – then tucks a strand of blond hair in behind her ear. A strange, random motion that, for the life of Sara, touches her, makes her smile. Such a simple, gentle gesture, a display of unconscious affection. Nyssa kisses her then, hand running beneath the hem of her dress, sliding up, running fingers on her thigh. She kisses her again so that Sara is caught between Nyssa and the wall. Nyssa's other hand slide from the wall to the small of Sara's back, and holding Sara close, gently caresses her. She pushes back against Nyssa, an admission of her desire, hands sliding along Nyssa's hips, shutting her eyes and rocking, and at the moment when she feels Nyssa within her, she feels an unexpected truth about herself she could discover in no other way and it surprises her then. <em>

_They make their way to Sara's bed then, make love by the light of a quarter moon, Nyssa's skin as ethereal, and translucent as the moon, as the wisps of cloud that hung in the sky._

* * *

><p>Sara hadn't meant to go home with Nyssa then. She hadn't meant to start a relationship with her as well.<p>

But Nyssa had ended up staying the night.

The next morning, she had found herself kissing Nyssa good morning, had found herself having breakfast with her, giving her her number, and that next Friday on a dinner date with her. One date had turned into two, then three, until they found themselves regularly seeing each other, spending nights in each other's apartments and just talking.

Nyssa had that emotional reserve not easily broken, and Nyssa tended to avoid effusive displays of emotion. There is a part of Nyssa that she withheld from Sara. Sometimes, Nyssa would go cold and silent and Sara could feel the distance.

There was something about Nyssa though, a silence, that gruff, imperious silence, that unwillingness to engage in the protocols of civilian life. She seemed to have no friends. Sara sometimes thinks she could read hardness and darkness in her silence. Sara recognizes that hardness and darkness buried in Nyssa because it's the same in hers. There is a place in Nyssa she could not reach where she makes choices in solitude and this makes her uneasy.

Though Nyssa is grave and silent, she is dependable and gentle. She does not like to explain or elaborate, and there is a part of her that Sara couldn't get to, but for the most part, she let it be, this silence of hers, because when they talk, they also speak of everything.

This had surprised Sara.

* * *

><p>Her bosses were thrilled that not only had she established contact with the subject but that she had successfully established a relationship with which to more properly conduct not only surveillance but also to take the necessary precautions should Nyssa prove to be what her bosses suspected her to be.<p>

Sara had been torn.

As the days and weeks and months pass by, she finds herself looking forward to seeing Nyssa. Finds herself looking forward to their dates, their dinners, their late night talks, the comfort of Nyssa's arms around her.

Sara begins to imagine again. Sara imagines what it would be like to marry her. It does not seem farfetched that they move in together, move to somewhere like Switzerland, Italy, France.

As she floats slowly, down, down beneath the waters of Central City, she realizes something important.

She had already given her whole soul to Nyssa a long time, had allowed herself to believe that their feelings for each other are preordained. Sara had already decided then that she would love her forever no matter what came to pass. It had not so much been a matter of deciding as accepting the inevitability of it. Their love is entirely unavoidable.

She realizes she loves Nyssa, too.

She grabs Nyssa then, pulls her up and swims up on the surface, breathing in the cold night air, gasping and coughing and shivering.

She glimpses the distant shores and swims for safety.

* * *

><p>She doesn't know for how long she swims.<p>

She feels her arms grow tired. Feels the weight of water pulling her and Nyssa down. Nyssa's eyes are closed. She thinks maybe Nyssa has swallowed a lot of water. Nyssa looks peaceful in the moonlit night.

She struggles against the water, determined to get Nyssa and herself to safety, no matter what it takes.

Nyssa had saved her.

It is time she saves her back.

* * *

><p><em>She is beautiful. <em>

_That is the first thought that crosses Sara's mind, the first time she sees Nyssa. _

_Nyssa's hair is a river of iridescent onyx, prominent and beautiful, shimmering in unearthly black waves. She has an immaculate complexion, skin as smooth as vanilla. Nyssa wears light mascara and lip gloss. Nyssa has never been vain and has always been unconcerned about her beauty. If her beauty fades, it will be alright with her. Nyssa has always thought there was more to life than extraordinary beauty. What Sara remembers most is Nyssa moves with a wholeness of being. She is unified and graceful. _

_She is extraordinary._

* * *

><p>Sara doesn't know how she swims the final yards to the shore.<p>

She doesn't know where she gets the strength to push herself against the tide.

But just as she thinks she no longer has any strength left to swim any further, a last burst of energy propels her forward, lets her cut a swath through the water and she drags herself and Nyssa, panting and exhausted and out of breath on the shore.

She is lying face down, breathing in and out. She feels like she could die. The wound on her shoulder is throbbing. She knows she's lost a lot of blood. She turns, lies on her side, coughs up seawater, starts to shiver, gasps, breathes in and out, feels her heart pound hard against her chest.

Nyssa lies on her side, facing her, eyes closed.

Sara just wants to close her eyes and sleep for the rest of her life.

But she scrambles forward, crawls towards Nyssa, turns her on her back. She manages to get her head on Nyssa's chest and listen to her.

She cannot hear her heartbeat.

Nyssa is not breathing.


	9. Chapter 9

Sara moves Nyssa carefully onto her back. Nyssa's body flops back lifelessly. Sara swallows nervously.

She gently tilts Nyssa's head, makes sure nothing is obstructing the passageway, starts to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, puts both her hands, one on top of the other, palms down, just underneath Nyssa's rib cage, pumping methodically, gently but firmly.

She finds comfort in the rhythmic motion of pushing up and down on Nyssa's chest and blowing into her mouth.

_Come on, Nyssa, come on. Don't die on me now, please._

Nyssa just lies there, unresponsive.

* * *

><p>Sara doesn't stop.<p>

_Nyssa, please. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die. _

As she continues administering CPR, and Nyssa is still unresponsive, she fights the rising panic and hysteria within her.

She'd wanted to go to Corto Maltese with Nyssa.

She'd wanted to imagine a different life with her.

Until now, faced with the possibility that Nyssa is dead, Sara hadn't realized how much she'd wanted to be with her. She hadn't realized how much she loves her. Images of Nyssa, Nyssa smiling at her, Nyssa running a hand on her cheek, Nyssa's gentle eyes resting upon her, Nyssa standing by the light of the window, flush with afternoon sunlight, Nyssa holding her, on her bed. The scent of Nyssa is still in her nose, her very essence in her very being. Memories flood her. She struggles to stay focused.

_Please, Nyssa, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Come back, Nyssa. Come back. _

When she'd been at it for what feels like forever, and Nyssa still lies there, looking decidedly dead, Sara feels an anger rising up within her.

_Dammit, Nyssa, don't just die on me now! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!_

She continues to apply pressure.

_No, no, no. Nyssa, please. _

She blows into Nyssa's mouth.

_I love you. I'm in love with you._

* * *

><p>Sara doesn't know how long she administers CPR, doesn't know how long she kneels beside Nyssa, blowing into her mouth, hoping against all hope that Nyssa isn't dead. Time seems to stretch to forever. In her mind's eye, she can sense the many infinite possibilities with Nyssa dying with her – fights off the sadness that this evokes in her. She should have told her. Should have told her when she still had the chance. It isn't supposed to end like this. Never like this. Losing Nyssa in the middle of nowhere, leaving her alone with only regrets and sadness and wishing she could turn back time.<p>

She fights the tears welling up in her eyes, the pain from her wound, the cold breeze blowing, making her teeth chatter, her body shiver.

To her left, miles from shore, she can see the ship ablaze, illuminating the water around the ship, thick smoke rising from the vessel. She sees some figures move, jump into the water, swimming to the smaller boat anchored near the ship, others burning alive and screaming. Beyond the ship she can see Star's shores, the docks, boats docked and beyond, the city, indifferent and unaware of the catastrophe unfolding in the water. To her right, where Nyssa is lying and where she is currently kneeling, are sandy shores that lead to thick clumps of trees, blocking out the stars in the night sky. She can make out the moon high in the sky, between the leaves. She sees a ball of light, the distant roar of a car engine, and a lonely road miles away from this shore. It feels strange and remote. She smells moss, cold wet earth, the sea, smoke wafting from the burning ship. The shouts, the commotion, the thick curl of smoke floating up in the dark sky, the fire feel like they are fading away, the glimmering water itself looking still, so solid and stable that Sara feels that loneliness and loss descend on her in waves. In the immense stillness broken only by the water lapping against the shore, by the intermittent chirping of a cricket, or hooting of an owl, a tide of darkness, of despair crash into her, and she feels her body start to shake with great, big wracking sobs. She feels herself float away, as if all of this is happening to somebody else. She is met by a profound silence apathetic to her pain and loss.

* * *

><p>Suddenly, that deep silence punctuated by her sobs, she feels Nyssa move, gasp, turn her head and cough up water on the sand.<p>

She watches, not quite believing her eyes, as Nyssa coughs up seawater, winces in pain, puts a hand on her side and comes up with a hand slick with blood.

She's so afraid that she might be dreaming that she doesn't speak for a few seconds. Then she swallows, clears her throat and whispers, "Nyssa?"

Nyssa stops, wipes her mouth, turns and looks at Sara. It takes a few seconds for her eyes to focus in the darkness, but when it does, she just stops and glares at Sara.

Sara instinctively moves back, afraid Nyssa might attack her. "I thought you were dead...I..."

Nyssa laughs softly, bitterly. "I thought that's what you wanted?" It sounds petty, she knows, since she'd just realized only moments earlier when she thought Sara was dead, that she loved her. But she also remembers the elaborate deceit that Sara had going for the past few months and she grows cold. "I seem to remember you pointing a gun to my head a few hours earlier...you seemed to want me dead then..."

"Nyssa, please..."

"I thought it was your life's work, subterfuge and death..."

"It's not what I..."

"I mean, I couldn't have done a better work myself..."

"Nyssa!" Sara almost shouts then, looking sad and apologetic, remorse in her face. "_Please_. I'm sorry, alright?"

Nyssa just scowls at her, cuts her off. "Sorry's not enough."

"I don't want you _dead_. I would _never_ want you dead. I was just doing my job...following orders...trying to stop you from doing whatever it is that you're planning to do."

"Stop me from what?"

Sara doesn't speak. She shrugs.

Nyssa does not say anything for a few minutes, before she speaks again. "Who are you really working for? What were you doing following me around? And arresting me?"

"I can't tell you that..." When Nyssa just looks at her, Sara sighs and says, "Alright. I was working deep undercover..."

"For what? Whom?"

"I can't..." Sara begins to say, but Nyssa cuts her off.

"Government? Feds? CIA? Defense? Are you a merc? What?"

Sara begins to shake her head but when she sees the look on Nyssa's face, she says, "Government..." When Nyssa is about to ask which part of government, Sara says, "It's a big covert agency, strictly off-the-books, not even the President knows we exist..."

"When did they recruit you? In college? High school?"

"I dropped out of college my first year..."

"I gather your family doesn't know about the new direction your career plans took?" Nyssa quirks an eyebrow.

Sara shakes her head. "Enlisted at Fort Knox, did a couple of tours and was recruited after."

Nyssa nods. "Argus?"

Sara stops, surprised. "How did you know...?"

Nyssa and Sara turn as they hear intermittent shouts from the still burning ship, making them duck their heads and crawl towards more cover inland.

Nyssa looks at Sara then. "Seems like we work for the same employer, darling. Question is, why is Argus trying to get me killed? By you, no less."

When the roar of an engine, followed by a car and its headlights to their right interrupts whatever Sara has to say, Nyssa says, "We have to get out of here. Leonov's goons won't be too happy I had him and his men killed, and I can think of at least a couple more groups of people looking out for me." Nyssa scrambles into crouching position and slowly makes her way amongst the clumps of trees. "Follow me. Stay close." She gropes for the gun tucked in her waistband behind her.

"Well, us now," Sara corrects her as she follows behind.

Nyssa looks at her then.

Sara shrugs. "Well, I was supposed to bring you in. I had orders. I'm pretty sure I've just gone rogue now."

"Welcome to the club," Nyssa says. "When I get my hands on..."

They see another car in the distance and they stop, hide behind the trees, waiting for the car to pass before running for the edge of the road.

"Where to now?" Sara asks.

"I need answers," Nyssa replies. "I have to get to this contact of mine in Central City. You're welcome to tag along as long as you promise not to kill me or get in my way..."

"Nyssa..."

"I mean it, Sara. As long as we're here now, I need an answer," Nyssa asks then. "I can't have you going around pointing a gun to my head and reading me my rights..."

Sara puts her hands up in surrender. "I won't."

"Alright," Nyssa says. "But when this is all over, we will need to have that talk."

Sara rolls her eyes. She watches Nyssa step to the middle of the road, gun in hand, waiting as another car approaches them. The car slows down to a stop inches away from Nyssa and the driver rolls down the window and leans out.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you alright?" the man says, confused and concerned for Nyssa.

Nyssa lifts her gun then and points it at the man. "Out of the car, mister. You and your passenger. Out of the car, _now_. Or I shoot."

The man and his passenger, presumably his wife, scramble out slowly.

"Clothes," Nyssa orders them, motioning with her gun.

"I'm sorry?" the man asks.

"Take off your clothes, now," Nyssa repeats. "Sara, get the clothes."

Both the man and the woman take their clothes off and toss them to Sara. When they stand, shivering, in their underwear, Nyssa says, "Hands behind your head, on your knees, _now_." She turns to Sara then and says, "Get in the car."

Sara nods and rushes to the car, Nyssa on her heels.

As Nyssa slams the door shut, guns the engine and drives away from the couple, Sara mutters, "Wow...Murder, robbery, grand theft...the felonies just keep piling up..."

Nyssa rolls her eyes but keeps her eyes on the road. "Put those clothes on."

When Sara only stares at her, Nyssa makes an impatient sound and says, sarcastically, "To stave off hypothermia, darling. We need to get us to someone who can patch us up. You've lost a lot of blood. Don't want you dying on me a second time now."

Sara nods grimly as she starts to take her shirt off, pauses and looks at Nyssa.

Nyssa looks at her then. "What? It's nothing I haven't seen before, Sara. This is not the time to suddenly feel shy."

Sara slips out of her wet shirt and jacket, then her jeans and slips into the blouse, jeans and jacket the woman had been wearing. She throws the man's shirt at Nyssa then. Nyssa makes another irritated noise as she tries to change clothes, with Sara getting hold of the steering wheel.

"Where are we going?" Sara asks.

"Somebody named Caitlin Snow."

* * *

><p>Caitlin Snow gives up trying to sleep when the insistent ringing of her doorbell, followed by the incessant knocking after, shows no signs of stopping.<p>

As she pads to the main door, peeks into the peep hole, and sees a couple of disheveled young women with blood and bruises on them, she does not know that her day is just beginning.

When she opens the door, the dark-haired woman (beautiful, almond-shaped eyes, tall, five foot eight, commanding presence) says, without preamble, flashing her badge, "Detective Nyssa Raatko, SCPD. You don't know me, but we have a mutual friend, Cisco, and he asked me to come here..."

Just at that moment, a male voice comes from the hallway, followed by someone hobbling to the floor in crutches. "Hey, who's that?"

Nyssa turns her head to look beyond Caitlin Snow's head and smiles at Cisco then. "Speak of the devil."

Cisco's bruised and battered face lights up. "Hey! What's up? How'd you find me?" he asks as he walks to the door. He then sees Nyssa's wound and his face changes to that of concern. "You're hurt. Are you okay? What happened?"

Caitlin stands aside to let Nyssa and Sara step inside the door. She closes the door and locks it behind them. "I take it you know them then?" Caitlin asks him.

Cisco grins. "Yes. Caitlin, this is Detective Nyssa Raatko, resident Star City bad ass and professional gorgeous person," he begins, his grin disappearing at the scowl on Nyssa's face. "Detective, this is Caitlin Snow...most brilliant up-and-coming geneticist working for Dr. Harrison Wells at the S.T.A.R. Labs branch at Central University...Really awesome person. And this is..." he stops, looks at the blond-haired woman beside Nyssa and grins. "Well, hello there. How you doin'?"

Caitlin rolls her eyes. "Really, Cisco? Really?"

"Sara," Nyssa says, who has a mutinous look on her eyes as she stares at Cisco.

"Sara Lance." Sara extends one bloodied hand to shake hands with Cisco. "And I'm kind of with her," she adds, pointing to Nyssa.

Cisco's face falls. "Oh." He then turns to Caitlin. "And Sara Lance." He looks at Nyssa. "Sorry. Please don't beat me up."

Sara shakes her head. "It's fine. She's not beating anyone up, are you, _dear_?" She turns to Nyssa with a pointed glare.

Nyssa is about to argue but decides against it.

Caitlin smiles briefly at Cisco. "I could perform a lobotomy on you now, if you want."

Cisco rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

Caitlin turns to both Nyssa and Sara, looking concerned. "You're hurt. I'm no expert but you both look like you need to see a doctor, stat. We need to get you to the hospital..."

"No!" Nyssa almost shouts in vehemence. "No hospitals. Hospitals mean doctors, doctors mean cops, cops mean press, press mean publicity – things we don't need right now. We're on the run from everyone on a matter of national security and we're trying to stay alive long enough to figure out our next move. "

"Oh, yeah, um, remember that thing I was telling you about that got me beaten up?" Cisco reminds Caitlin. "You know, genetic experiments, biological and chemical weapons, stupidly dialing a secret government number because I kind of figured out the number 87 was some kind of binary digit code that can be turned into a secret government phone number which I stupidly dialed and hence got my ass kicked by assassins after?" Cisco turns to Nyssa then. "Yeah, I figured out what 87 means."

"And you brought them here?!" Caitlin asks, incredulous and irritated. She quickly goes to her windows, parts the curtains a little and suspiciously looks out. Satisfied that she isn't being watched or that nobody is surveilling her apartment, she closes the curtains with a snap and glares at Cisco. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" Caitlin says, folding her arms in front of her as she continues to scowl at Cisco.

Cisco bows his head and mutters. "Sorry."

"Ah, sorry to interrupt, but we're kind of slowly bleeding to death all over your carpet here," Sara manages to say.

Caitlin looks at Sara, then Nyssa then Cisco, and back, looking thoughtfully from one to the other, before she sighs and says, "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude or insensitive. Cisco here has a way of getting me into trouble..."

"Hey!"

Caitlin motions for them to follow her into the kitchen. "First we need to patch you up. This way."

"Look, I'm sorry, alright, but this is some kind of government conspiracy that someone or something is trying to cover up!" Cisco reasons. "And she's my friend..." When Nyssa raises an eyebrow at the word, Cisco says, "Well, sort of. Anyway, she needed answers! And you're like, the most brilliant geneticist I know. I mean, no one even comes close. Who better to get her answers from than you?"

Caitlin rolls her eyes at Cisco as she opens one of the cupboards and takes out an emergency toolkit. She puts it on the counter, along with a bottle of alcohol and vodka. Without saying anything, Nyssa takes the vodka, unscrews the top and pours some of it on her wound before she takes a swig at it. She hands it to Sara, who takes a swig at it as well and pours a bit of it on her wound. Nyssa sets to work helping Caitlin with Sara's wound. Cisco looks like he is about to pass out. Nyssa notices his nauseated expression and smirks. Caitlin hands him smelling salts.

"Don't want you passing out on my kitchen," Caitlin comments as she motions for Cisco to take a few steps back as she peers into Sara's shoulder, scalpel in one hand, tweezers in the other, before starting to dig into Sara's shoulder.

Sara, on the other hand, looks from Caitlin to Cisco and says, between winces, "You guys are cute. Are you two together..."

Caitlin's eyes widen and the speed with which she shakes her head and denies it vehemently answers the question for Sara. "No, eeww."

Cisco frowns at her. "Wow, thanks, Caitlin. Way to emasculate a guy. We're _so_ not watching 'The Notebook' on movie night."

Nyssa just watches them and says, "I think we're getting off topic here."

"Right, right, sorry," Cisco apologizes. "Do you need anything else?" he asks Caitlin.

Without looking up, Caitlin says, "Yeah, a paper bag, top drawer on your right."

Cisco nods and scrambles to look for the paper bag on the top drawer. When he finds one, he hands it to Caitlin, who shakes her head.

"What?" Cisco asks, puzzled.

Caitlin looks up briefly and says, "That's for you. To breathe into. You're looking a little pale." In a few seconds, she has the bullet out of Sara's body and dropping it in the sink. Cisco's face is already in the paper bag, taking in deep breaths, eyes watching as Caitlin takes needle and thread and starts to sew Sara's skin together. Nyssa doesn't even flinch.

Cisco finally loses the battle, his eyes roll upwards, he wobbles and faints on the floor.

* * *

><p>Detective Quentin Lance's car rolls to a stop a few yards from the shore by the docks of Port Franklin. He curses under his breath at the spectacle unfolding in front of him – police cars flashing blue and red, yellow tape being wound around the crime scene, uniformed police officers securing the perimeter, federal agents conferring with local police and, he can see, Coast Guard officers. Away from the port, he can see the Coast Guard boats in the middle of the water, trying to put away the fire on a much larger vessel yards from the shore. He can see jets of water making graceful arcs in the air coming from water hoses, trying to put out the fire on the vessel. From the looks of it, the vessel looks like a medium-sized cargo or fishing vessel of some sort.<p>

"You can say that again," McKenzie Jansen states.

Lance turns. "Son, I said you could come. I didn't say you could _talk_."

Jansen bows his head. "Sorry, sir."

Lance gets out of the car and slams the door behind him. Queen and Diggle spot him and approach him.

"What do we have here?" Lance asks, arms akimbo.

"Probably a bunch of would-be terrorists or mercenaries now burned to a crisp," Diggle replies.

"Survivors?"

Diggle looks to Queen. Queen shakes his head.

Lance turns to Diggle. "I take it we know who they are?"

"Soon as the Coast Guard puts out the fire, and we take DNA samples and fingerprints...fire can preserve evidence very well...you'll find that it's probably our friend Vladimir Alexei Leonov and his friends."

"And we know this because...?"

"Amazo's originally a cargo vessel," Queen explains. "Passed through a few hands for years until a few months ago when it was sold to..."

"Vladimir Alexei Leonov."

"Well, not really. More like..._borrowed_," Queen replies.

"You mean, stolen?"

Diggle nods. "Seems like it."

Lance knits his eyebrows. "Why would our friend Leonov need a cargo vessel for?"

"My guess?" Diggle asks. "Probably to store explosives..."

"Explosives?"

Diggle nods. "Yep. Enough to burn our men in the ship to a crisp. Explains the loud explosion."

Lance nods back. "So I'm guessing this is now an official federal investigation? And that we have a possible terrorist attack on our hands?"

"Yes," Queen responds. "We're coordinating with Homeland Security, SWAT, bomb squad...Security tomorrow's going to be a nightmare. We still don't know where the terrorists will attack. World economic forum, world leaders, a high threat urban area...Could be anywhere. We'd still need your help."

"Why? You seem to be doing well on your own," Lance says with a smile.

"Oh, you're going to want to hear this," Diggle replies. When Lance raises his eyebrows, Diggle says, "Port Franklin's a deadzone, no surveillance cameras here, perfect for Leonov but traffic cams from the Glades all the way to here – wherever the surveillance stops anyway, establish an unmarked van. Same unmarked van that seems to have been used to abduct Raatko and your daughter." He pauses, waits for Lance's reaction. When he realizes nothing is forthcoming, he continues. "We found the van here. Forensics establish preliminary evidence that Raatko and your daughter may have been brought here. We've got bootprints, the works..."

"You found them?" Lance asks, looking hopeful.

Diggle shakes his head. He looks at Queen's expressionless face. Queen doesn't offer to answer so Diggle takes a deep breath and continues. "We have reason to believe that they may have been taken to that vessel over there," here he points to the still burning ship, the last fire being put out by the Coast Guard, "In what we believe is the Queen's Gambit..." And here he points to the yacht drifting a few yards from the bigger vessel and currently having police officers and Coast Guard on its decks.

Diggle wants to turn his head away from the look on Lance's face. The expression is indescribable. It is the look of someone realizing that their child might be dead and hoping against all hope that they're not.

"So you're telling me they were in that vessel when it exploded?" Lance demands, voice slowly rising in hysteria.

Queen doesn't say anything. Diggle speaks up.

"I hope, for your sake, that they are not. Or that if they were, that they survived."

* * *

><p>After both Sara and Nyssa's wounds are cleaned, the bullet fragments dug out and dressed, they all sit around the table and listen to Caitlin, Cisco's pale skin slowly turning back to its natural color.<p>

"It's called transhumanism," Caitlin explains.

"What is?"

"Since time immemorial, humankind had always dreamed of a...supreme being," Caitlin continues.

"The perfect human," Cisco says.

Caitlin nods. "Yes. You see it in early stories, in mythology, in religion, in the tales about Hercules, in the idea that a powerful being born of heaven and man can turn into a weapon. You see it in art, in literature, in stories like Frankenstein, in the beauty of Leonardo's David...in fact, the Olympics was born out of that celebration of human beauty, of brute physicality, strength, prowess..." She stops, takes a sip of her tea, before she says, "When Hitler came to power, he took it up a notch, started talking about the Aryan Race, a race of these supreme beings, blonde, blue-eyed, physically more superior than the others, racially pure, born and raised to subjugate the rest of the world. It was probably all a myth, in actuality. There had been so much interracial unions throughout recorded human history, it's virtually impossible for anyone to claim racial superiority. But that gave his scientists, and the scientists that would come after an idea though..."

"Genetic engineering," Nyssa says.

Caitlin nods. "Yes. A chance to weed out genetic imperfections, and with the unlimited resources the Third Reich had at its disposal..."

"Their prisoners, you mean," Nyssa adds.

"Yes...with those unlimited resources, they can start experiments, study the results, push the boundaries of genetic science in a way that was never done before," Caitlin continues. "You could call it a form of forced natural selection, helping evolution along the way, encouraging mutations that would improve on the weaker ancestor...by this time, the Third Reich had a better idea – the super soldier."

"Super soldier?" Sara asks.

"Yes. Wars can be expensive. You need to feed and clothe and pay your soldiers if you want to win the war. Ideologies don't just win the war, they give it direction, a focus, sure, but money, well, that makes the world go round. But soldiers, well, as far as biological beings go, well, they're limited by their weaknesses. They get tired, they need sleep, they need food, they're slow and not all of them are smart enough to engage in strategies that could win the war..."

"Hence the super soldier," Cisco says. "Or, well, we could totally call them superheroes if we want to." He grins with approval at the thought. His grin disappears when Nyssa looks at him sharply.

Caitlin nods. "Imagine super soldiers that don't get easily tired, need little sleep and food, are fast and smart and can kill with precision and efficiency. The kind who, when captured, would have a high tolerance against torture, sleep deprivation, pain...Wars would be won fast."

"So, you're saying the Third Reich performed genetic experiments on its prisoners?" Nyssa asks.

"Yes," Caitlin replies. "But all other governments were doing it, too. The Russians, the Japanese, the Chinese...it was only a matter of time. I mean, World War II brought unprecedented advances in science and technology. But that came at a price. While America was able to develop the atom bomb, the Japanese were able to develop biochemical weapons – they had a covert biological and chemical warfare unit responsible for the deaths of over 200,000 Chinese people in germ warfare field experiments. Some of the scientists were granted immunity from prosecution in exchange for sharing biological warfare secrets with the US military. But it wasn't all horrible things though. Some of the advances in medicine that are preventing deaths now came from those genetic discoveries...I mean, we now have genetically engineered crops that provide higher yields, are pest-resistant and help stave off famine and increase food security. It's not an entirely new concept – we've produced human growth hormones through recombinant DNA technology. Advances in genetics have helped us understand humans more, have helped us bring some species back from the brink of extinction..."

"And the super soldiers?"

"Well, technically, because of ethical, religious and moral considerations, human genetic experiments are banned," Caitlin explains. "Officially."

"And unofficially?" Nyssa asks.

"Unofficially, we've probably got corporations conducting illegal experiments on humans to see if that dream of an army of super soldiers can be brought to reality."

"What kind of experiments would they be?" Nyssa looks at Caitlin.

Caitlin shrugs. "I don't know. I've read of pre-birth human DNA modification to eliminate destructive cell mutations. It could be gene insertion to affect a single individual through somatic cell modification or it may target gametes. Genetics has helped give us a greater understanding of human behavior, human nature, so that could mean manipulating genes from parent DNAs to make offspring smarter, quicker, deadlier, more aggressive, have greater resistance to disease and old age...It's meant to optimize one's attributes or capabilities, raise the individual's performance from standard to peak levels..." She stops, lets this sink in, before she continues. "Modifying genes in germ cells has been highly controversial because the changes – good or bad – pass to one's descendants...Plus, you know, more complex traits like intelligence or behavior are a lot trickier. The genome only provides a blueprint for formation of the brain – other factors – like environmental and stochastic influences, also play a part in improving these more complex traits. That's why even if scientists actually succeed with their human genetic experiments, some training might be required..."

"Like a boot camp?" Cisco asks.

"Yes. You'd still have to train these super soldiers so they can fully realize their maximum potential. In fact, they'd probably start training them when they're children. Studies show teaching someone before they hit puberty is the most optimum time for learning. Kids can learn five or six languages by the time they turn ten years old. In fact, you could probably teach a child algebra, calculus, quantum physics at that age and they'd probably get it. Imagine if they're genetically enhanced human beings with the intellectual capacity of a small super computer. The possibilities are endless!"

"And scary," Cisco adds. "You'd probably need to have some kind of...tracking device just to keep your super soldiers in check, I think!"

"How do you know all this?" Sara asks Caitlin.

"This guy, he came to me weeks ago," Caitlin says. "Seemed pretty messed up. Couldn't completely remember who he was. Asked me to run some tests on him."

"Isaac Stanzler?" Nyssa offers.

"Yes, how do you know him?"

"Showed up at Star causing some trouble," Nyssa replies.

"Sounds about right," Caitlin says. "Anyway, he was a bit like those dream super soldiers...but he wasn't the kind of pre-birth genetically enhanced human being..."

"What was he then?" Nyssa says.

"He was the kind that needed pills to enhance his capacities, his abilities," Caitlin says. "A virus might possibly have been introduced to improve his abilities. He mentioned something called, Mirakuru?"

"Mirakuru? I saw that in the file," Cisco says.

"Yeah. Anyway, whatever they did to him seriously messed him up."

"They?" Nyssa asks. "Who? Do you know of any corporations actually doing this?"

Caitlin shakes her head. "No. It's very hush-hush. Especially since it's illegal and could include a fine and jail time." She taps something on her laptop and shows it to Nyssa. The screen shows a world map with red points on it. "If there were illegal genetic experiments happening, it would definitely not be happening on American soil. I'm guessing places like Siberia, parts of Eastern Europe or South America, or islands are your best bet..."

Nyssa nods, taking this all in.

"I heard the US government detains suspected terrorists not only in Guantanamo Bay, but in ships as well. I think it's reasonable to believe that corporations wanting to conduct illegal human genetic experiments would conduct it on ships too."

Cisco nods, thoughtful. "Makes sense. Ships on the high seas, away from everyone's jurisdiction, disguised as tankers or luxury liners or whatever, entirely self-sufficient, it's perfect."

Then Caitlin stops. "Oh, speaking of which..." she excuses herself, goes to the hallway and comes back with a pack which she offers to Nyssa. "I believe this is yours?"

Nyssa accepts the bag, and the katana that goes with it. "Thank you. How did you..." She opens the bag and brings out the Baby Glock – 9mm subcompact semiautomatic pistol – checks it, and puts it in her waistband. She then rummages through it and finds a couple more guns and bullets and some cash.

"Stanzler came by, dropped it off, said he had somewhere else to be," Caitlin explains. "Anyway, there was this guy, Dr. Anthony Ivo – he was known as some kind of mad scientist who started his own company, TransCorp...he was a big transhumanist. He believed in helping evolution along through genetic enhancements, genetic manipulation. He started with a team of scientists doing experiments on crops, insects, animals...but then he started doing experiments on humans...called them meta-humans...supreme beings that would some day rule the world..."

"He sounds insane," Cisco says.

"Well, I did say mad scientist," Caitlin pointed out. "Anyway, I don't remember the details anymore, but he did some kind of experiment that went awry, ruined him and his company. He disappeared from the public eye, relocated somewhere in the far east...I forgot where...but apparently he's revived his company, called it Global Dynamics...Apparently the Chinese government _really_ like him..."

"Do you have more information about Global Dynamics?" Nyssa asks.

Caitlin offers her laptop to Nyssa. "Knock yourself out."

Nyssa thanks her. She types in Global Dynamics and their website pops up. She scrolls through the site menu, then clicks on Global Dynamics' programs, projects, its vision, mission and philosophy, corporate responsibility programs, events. She turns to Caitlin then. "Global Dynamics is holding a charity gala tomorrow night, at eight."

"Yeah, that's been all over the news," Caitlin says. "Global Dynamics is a massive contributor to Morgan Fox's campaign."

"Interesting," Nyssa says. "Pretty interesting guest list Global Dynamics has. The president and other attendees of the world economic forum are attending, as well as members of Star's own Chamber of Commerce, led by none other than Malcolm Merlyn...and some other prominent figures, too – Lex Luthor of Luthor Corp., Bruce Wayne from Wayne Enterprises, Moira Dearden from Queen Consolidated..."

"Yeah, it's like a veritable who's who of the East Coast's elite one-percenters," Cisco adds. "Rumor has it Merlyn's looking to either have some kind of merger or acquisition...I'm surprised Moira Dearden's even showing up, considering what's happened with the company and Walter Steele..."

"The Russian president doesn't seem to be coming," Nyssa notes.

"Ivan Ivanovich Knyezev, the Russian President, is famously anti-social," Cisco explains. "And also very anti-science and very anti-corporation. Well, American corporations anyway. It stands to reason he'd want to stay away from a charity gala like that."

Nyssa looks at Sara then. "I can't be at two places at once."

"You can't do it all alone, too," Sara points outs. When Nyssa doesn't say anything, Sara says, "You could die, Nyssa."

Cisco looks from one to the other. "What's going on?"

"Yes, what's this all about anyway?" Caitlin asks, curious.

Nyssa looks at Sara, takes a deep breath and explains. "We have reason to believe that a genetic experiment on super soldiers _has_ succeeded, and that these same individual or individuals are being used to assassinate a political leader tomorrow."

"What?" Cisco asks, incredulous. "Who?"

"Knyezev's going to be assassinated tomorrow," Nyssa explains. "I don't know when or where, but I do know we need to stop it."

Cisco thinks this over for a second before he says, "Cool. Where do I sign up?"

Nyssa glares at him. "Thanks for offering, but when I said 'we', I actually only meant me. Plus seeing as you almost got yourself killed last time, Cisco, no."

"You can't do this alone, Nyssa," Sara repeats. "Everyone's on the lookout for you for god-knows-what reason and they'll just be waiting for the perfect excuse to pin this on you. We need all the help we can get."

"We?" Nyssa asks with a smirk.

"Yes, we," Sara says. "I gather Cisco has some useful skills we can use."

"I'm good with computers, and stuff," Cisco says. "And communications. And tracking people. If you need someone found or surveilled, I'm your man. All we need are cellphones, earpieces, laptops and we're good to go..."

"I could help, too, if you need anything science-y or whatever," Caitlin offers.

Nyssa looks from Sara, to Cisco and Caitlin, and takes a deep breath. "I'll probably regret this, but fine. If you get hurt though, that's on you, not me...Don't say I didn't warn you. And if hear you whine, Cisco, I'm going to beat you up with your own shoe."

Cisco grins.

"Alright, first, we need to contact Iris West..." Nyssa begins.

Cisco looks at her, puzzled. "Thought we didn't want the press in on this."

"Not _all_ members of the press, just Iris West. Also, I'm currently having...shall we say disagreements, with my superiors about course of actions regarding appropriate response to an imminent terrorist attack on American soil, so I might need your help on this. I need us all to put our heads together for this," Nyssa explains. "So, Cisco, I need you to find out as much as you can about the Mendez Cartel, Global Dynamics, Knyezev, if there's any connection to Sebastian Blood's death, whatever...I might also need a copy of Star's city plan, and a copy of tomorrow's events for the economic forum. We need to pinpoint exactly where a possible terrorist attack might occur. I'm thinking large groups of people, high concentrations of the population. These terrorists might be looking for payback, or sending us a message. We need to know if there's any connection to the president, or anyone else who might have pissed off any existing terrorist group."

"That's going to take the whole night," Cisco begins to say, but when he sees the serious, no-nonsense look on Nyssa's face, he quickly adds, "Which I can totally do, no problem."

"We'll divvy up the work. Let me borrow a laptop, I can do half of the work. I just need a fresh pair of eyes, because I might miss something and I don't want to make decisions based on bad intel." She turns to Caitlin after. "Caitlin, I'd like you to help me find a connection between the Mendez Cartel, Global Dynamics, genetic experiments, and whatever terrorist group we currently have." Caitlin nods.

"Cool! It's go time!" Cisco gleefully comments, rubbing his hands together.

"And me?" Sara asks.

Nyssa turns to her. "You're hurt. You need to rest. I'll need you tomorrow." She then leans over Sara and whispers something in her ear. "I need to talk to you later. I have to ask you for something..."

* * *

><p>As Lance looks out into the docks and the water, searching the darkness for any sign of his daughter, Queen and Diggle confer with other federal agents, police officers and the Coast Guard. Diggle gets a call then, nods once and goes to Lance.<p>

"Detective?" Diggle asks Lance. "Got a call from Central – highway robbery, two women matching the descriptions of the two people we're looking for, robbed a couple and took their car. We're sending someone to go check it out now..." His voice trails off when he realizes Lance is not listening. It takes him a couple of tries before Lance takes himself out of his reverie and looks at Diggle.

It takes the man a moment to focus before he realizes it is Diggle. "Hey. What's up? Sorry, just got caught up with some...memories..." When Diggle doesn't say anything, Lance says, "Sara was kind of...the black sheep of the family, you know? I mean people say it's Dinah, but Dinah was a bit more level-headed and Laurel's kind of uptight and self-sufficient, as far as eldest children go...Ambitious and driven, you know? But Sara...Sara was..._is_ the life of the family, you know? She was always getting herself into trouble...first day of kindergarten already had her teacher and one of her classmates in tears. She always had a way about her. By the time she hit puberty, she already had boys lining up down the block to ask her out. She was always so charming, you know? So...adorable..." Lance's voice chokes, trails off.

Diggle stands there, looking awkward, not knowing what to say.

"You got kids, Diggle?"

Diggle shakes his head no.

Lance doesn't say anything for a while. "The first time I held Sara in my arms, I was so scared. So scared. I never thought I could love something so small, so tiny. I mean, I loved Laurel and Dinah fine, but Sara...Sara was special, you know? I don't know why, but she was special. And I promised myself I'd love her more than anything in the world. That I'd love her and protect her and never let anything happen to her. Being a father is like nothing else, son. It's scary and it's frustrating and it's everything I've ever dreamed of and more. But when you lose one of your kids...It hits you. It's like a wave. You just get this profound feeling of instability…like the Earth isn't stable anymore..." He turns to Diggle then. "If you can, Diggle, don't have kids. It's just going to break your heart."

* * *

><p>Nyssa stands by the window on the second floor of Caitlin's apartment, in the guest bedroom that she is currently and unwillingly sharing with Sara.<p>

"You should get some sleep," Sara offers, sitting on the bed, watching Nyssa.

"We'll take turns, I'll take first watch," Nyssa says.

"How's the shoulder?"

Nyssa already knows what she means. She doesn't mean the wound she sustained saving Sara from Leonov and his men, but the wound on her shoulder from where she has asked Sara to insert a knife and dig out a device she suspects Argus has planted there and is causing her the headaches. Sara digs it out in the bathroom and it takes her a while but she is able to pull out a small device, small than the smallest coin, and which Nyssa suspects is either an RFID chip or a GPS nanite tracking device or both. Sara doesn't say anything as she flushes it down the toilet. As Nyssa watches it go down the drain, her suspicion that what Stanzler has said might be true, keeps growing.

Sara looks like she is about to say something now, but she seems to have thought better of it, because she slides between the covers and is asleep in a few minutes.

Nyssa watches the window for a while before she gives up and goes to the bed, quietly sitting down, resting her back against the wall, watching Sara sleep.

Caitlin has given her more pieces of the puzzle. She feels like she doesn't know herself anymore.

Who is she? A master of deceit, a master of lies, a master of counterfeited emotion. Love had been nothing to her. Love is mechanical. Death an inevitability. Nothing could be gained from either.

As she sits there, thinking, she reviews what Caitlin has said. And what Stanzler has said earlier. Images come to her – memories of a different time. The explosion of the Amazo hours earlier reminds her of a similar explosion when she was younger – aboard a ship. With Rezsch. She'd been young. Very young. Perhaps a child. She remembers vaguely jumping overboard, and onto a boat, Rezsch holding her tight, ship exploding behind them. Floating on the sea for days. An island. Lian Yu? Had she been born on the ship? Was Rezch her father? Had they tried to escape? Who were they trying to escape from? How were they able to survive for so long? Is it possible that Rezsch's disappearance from her life after, when she had been older, was connected to all this? Then it hits her – multiple identities. She'd always been Nyssa, but her family name had never stayed the same. Rezsch had instilled in her an automatic distrust of everything, of always being mindful of her surroundings, of being alert and she'd acquired this trait all the way to adulthood, so much so that when she'd been recruited by Argus, it had been easier to slip into different personas, to go deep undercover. She can no longer deny that she could probably be a product of experiments. She doesn't know what to make of it. Is it possible Rezsch had trained her because she had been intended to be a super soldier herself but that her training had been disrupted? But she'd never had to take pills or shots like Stanzler. Is she perhaps part of a group of people who'd been born in a lab? Bred in a petrie dish? Her genetic traits taken from different people with desirable genes and mixed into one? Is that why she'd always felt different? After Rezsch had disappeared, she'd drifted from one home to another, and they had been so forgettable that she'd suppressed those memories altogether. But there'd always been a consistent presence there, as of a benevolent one, watching her, making sure she'd grow to her fullest potential. Could she really be a sleeper agent? Is that why she has problems remembering? Had she been triggered? Will she be triggered for tomorrow? Is she nothing more than a lab-grown experiment turned killer?

Sara stirs then, looks at her. "You should get some rest," she says again.

Nyssa is exhausted, but she doesn't feel like sleeping. "I'm fine."

Sara is silent for a few moments, before she sits up, rubs her eyes with her hands and looks at Nyssa. "You're thinking about what Caitlin said."

Nyssa doesn't respond.

"You're thinking maybe you're one of them. A genetically enhanced corporate super soldier manufactured to wage and end wars,"Sara continues. "Maybe you're a sleeper agent, mind-controlled and brainwashed, just waiting to be activated at the right time."

Nyssa just looks at her.

"Maybe you're thinking right now you don't even know who you are anymore, maybe you're too dangerous to be around other people, maybe you'll wake up someday and end up killing somebody you care for..."

"You seem to know me pretty well," Nyssa comments.

"Guessed some of it on your profile at Argus."

"Well, since you know so much, who am I then?"

Sara shrugs. "I don't know. You're the only one who can answer that. Who are you?"

Nyssa is silent, considers the question. Finally she speaks up. "I know what I'm not. I'm not a pet. I'm not some animal bred for war or espionage or whatever the hell game it is that Argus or any branch of the American intelligence community is playing..."

Sara smiles. "No, you're not."

"I belong to myself." She thinks about this then. "But, I'm not even sure who I am. _What_ I am. I feel like I'm just pieces of somebody else."

"We're all pieces of somebody else. Whether we were born or made...we're all hoping to be whole again," Sara tells her gently. "But you...you've...you've made me whole again."

"Sara..."

"I'm sorry, Nyssa. For everything. For what happened. I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was. I couldn't tell you who I was before now. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have hurt you..."

"You lied to me, Sara. How can I ever trust you again?"

Sara does not have an answer for this, so she stays silent. Then she says, "For what it's worth, I apologize.

"That's not really worth anything right now."

"Nyssa...I'm really sorry. If you could just...give me another chance...to make things right..."

"Sara...You can't just say things like and expect everything to be better. When things like trust are gone, they're gone. "

"I don't agree."

"Name one thing that stays. Go on, name _one_ thing."

"_Love." _She reaches up into the darkness to take hold of Nyssa's face and finds Nyssa's flawless cheeks. Her cheeks are cool to Sara's touch. Sara hesitates. "I love you."

Nyssa is silent. Nyssa looks at her with sadness in her eyes. "How can you be sure that what you feel comes from the heart? How can I be sure you're not lying this time?"

"What does it matter where it comes from? It's there. It's yours." She leans over then, presses a cool palm against Nyssa's cheek. "_I'm _yours."

"Sara, I don't even know what this is."

Sara shakes her head, smiles gently. "Whatever it is we feel for each other – and I don't pretend to know what it is and I'm pretty sure I didn't dream you feeling something for me, too – it's ours. And yes, I've lied to you, I know, but my feelings for you, that's not a lie, Nyssa. Wherever you are, Nyssa, that's where I belong. We belong to each other. Trust me. We've got each other and that's our best hope of staying alive and sane."

Sara gently pulls Nyssa towards her. Nyssa resists. A number of emotions go through her.

Who is she? A master of deceit, of lies, of counterfeited emotion. Love is nothing, mechanical, death, an inevitability. Nothing could be gained from either. Til she met Sara.

Sara understands her. Her feelings for her are not a sham. In Sara, she'd heard an echo of the anguish, she'd felt in herself, in Sara's gaze she'd felt a soulmate, in Sara she'd found someone who understood her. And in that she rediscovers a power she thought she never had before.

There was good to be done with such power, hopes to be reawakened.

Nyssa leans over Sara. She runs her hand on Sara's skin, smiles at her.

"I was happy. Maybe I didn't always realize I was happy, but I was. With you." Nyssa's voice is soft, tender. "I think you are the reason, Sara. You are the reason and the meaning. You're the part of me that's missing. You're everything I hold dear in this life."

Sara smiles softly.

"I don't want an apology," Nyssa finally says.

"What do you want then?" Sara asks gently.

Nyssa smiles at her. "A promise. An oath."

"Nyssa..."

"Not now," Nyssa says, shaking her head. "When this is all over..."

Sara nods. "Alright. When this is all over..."

They lie there, inches from each other, not saying anything, a silent understanding passing between them. Then Sara nods and says, "We should get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Alright."

* * *

><p>Morning comes bright and early in Star City.<p>

Detective Quentin Lance comes out of his apartment in his suit, looking scruffy and exhausted.

Sara peers out of the back window of her father's car and comments, "He looks tired."

They watch as he slowly makes his way to his car. Nyssa's phone chooses to ring at this time.

"Cisco, this is a bad time right now," Nyssa whispers, who is crouching beside Sara in the back.

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry," Cisco replies on the other line. "But like, just so you know, I tapped into the FBI feeds and stuff? Yeah, felony but you said we need to know what we're dealing with here, so. And I intercepted a memo about a shipment of those organophosphates, the phosphorous-containing organic chemicals I was telling you about before."

"The nerve agents?"

"Yeah, there was a shipment that was hijacked a few weeks ago?" Cisco explains. "Intel suggests shipment was hijacked off the coast of Somalia, on its way somewhere...and something else..."

"What?"

"Missing explosives, stolen on a routine mission somewhere in Kazakhstan...never recovered..."

"So you think they've been stolen and likely on their way here?"

"Possibly."

Nyssa looks at Sara then. "Alright, thanks for calling me. I'll be in touch."

She cuts the call as Lance approaches, pauses outside his car to take out his car keys, opens his driver's door and gets in. As he slams the door beside him and reaches for his seatbelt, Sara appears from behind and before he can react, she has her hand on his mouth, an arm on his chest and whispers, "Dad."

* * *

><p>"Dad, don't move," Sara whispers. "Don't say a word. It's okay, it's me. Sara."<p>

Lance nods.

Sara slowly removes her hand. Lance takes a deep breath then and says, uncertainly, "Sara?"

Lance attempts to turn around, but then Sara says, "Don't turn around, Dad. People might be watching. Just drive."

Lance nods as he starts the engine. He tries to look serious, but he cannot conceal the joy, excitement and relief at seeing his daughter alive, in his eyes.

He laughs silently as he drives away from the curb. "I thought you were dead..."

Sara smiles at the mirror. "No, dad. Nyssa saved me."

Nyssa peeks from behind the seat.

"Raatko?" Lance tries to turn around but Sara dissuades him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Detective." When Lance tries to turn, Nyssa makes a point of showing a gun in her hand, pointed at Lance. "I don't want to have to use this, but we're pressed for time and we need you to listen." Nyssa's voice is steady as she says this.

"Raatko! Put the gun down! What the hell are you doing here? What are you doing with my daughter?" Lance looks incredulous. "You almost got my daughter killed, Raatko."

Nyssa looks at Lance for a few seconds before she slowly lowers the gun. "I would never hurt Sara, detective. I would rather die than let anything bad happen to your daughter."

Lance makes a face. "How long have you been dating my daughter, Raatko?"

Sara looks surprised. "How did you know...?"

"I'm a detective sweetheart, not an idiot," Lance explains. He looks at Raatko. "You do know everyone – SCPD, the Feds, Homeland Security, NSA, they're all looking for you, right?"

Nyssa takes out a long breath. "I'm innocent," Nyssa says calmly. "Someone's implicating me for something I couldn't and _wouldn't _do!"

Lance looks at her in the mirror, studies her for a moment and takes a deep breath.

"It's true dad, please listen to her," Sara says. "You've got to help us."

Lance raises an eyebrow, incredulous. "Since when do you work with fugitives?" He looks at Nyssa in the mirror. "Which you are, you know."

"Dad, we don't have time," Sara says. "Terrorists might be attacking even as we speak. This is a matter of national security. A lot of innocent people could die."

Lance stares at the rear view mirror, at Sara, before he sighs. "Alright. Treason, aiding and abetting, consorting with the enemy...I could make you a list of all the things I could be arrested for, but when this is all over, I'm still arresting you, Raatko. What do you have for me?"

Nyssa nods in relief. "We have reason to believe there's going to be a terrorist attack in Star City today. Possibly on the Russian president, and a few other prominent figures."

"Yeah, we know that already. We've alerted the Russian president and he's promised to stay away from the public and the conference for the day. Security's beefed up at the summit as well. What I want to know is, do you know where they're going to strike?"

Nyssa shakes her head. "A source says we've got stolen nerve agents – possibly anthrax, and a stolen shipment of explosives...we don't know yet where they might attack, but possible large concentrations of people would be the easy targets."

Lance stops the car then.

Nyssa stops. She looks around. She notes that in the space of a few minutes and a few stops and turns, they are now by the Public Star City Square, with its massive fountain surrounded by cedar, maple, birch and pine, fronting a garden and a park, and Star City Hall. She notes that traffic is being redirected because of the Economic Summit, traffic cops directing motorists to alternate routes. Traffic barriers have been put up to keep cars from passing through the roads around the square. She notes that the crowd of protesters, anti-protesters and curious bystanders has swelled to five times its size from the day before, and just beyond the crowd, she can see between the gaps the long, dark sedans, uniformed police escorts and tall, armed men in dark glasses, suits and earpieces indicating that there are dignitaries present complicating traffic and security.

Something dawns on her then. She is about to say something when she realizes something. She looks around. Buildings. Lots of them. Surrounding a square on all sides. The possibilities for multiple shooters on any given building shooting at a crowd in the middle of the morning, are endless.

"Detective, we need to clear this place," Raatko says absently, as she looks around. "Why wasn't it cleared before? This is just asking for it..."

Lance replies, "We tried. But you know, protesters and their constitutional rights. Apparently their rights trump their safety from terrorists."

"And the American president?"

Lance points forward with a finger. "Looks like he might be here any minute now."

Nyssa peers into the windshield and sees a motorcade in the distance, beyond the protesters and riot place and crowds.

Before Lance can start the car again, Nyssa curses under her breath, grabs the car door, opens it and steps out, ignoring Lance's "Hey!" directed at her. She takes out her gun, scanning the crowd, then the buildings, then the uniformed police officers, plain clothes ones and agents, milling around.

It's going to happen now, she realizes. She just doesn't know where.

She starts to take a few steps down the sidewalk, concentrating on the building windows, hoping she could spot a potential sniper from this distance.

But then she hears a shot. Then a scream. Someone falling down the ground.

Then all hell breaks loose.


End file.
